


A Tea Party On The River Lethe

by fabricdragon



Series: Amnesia Shuffle [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Amnesia, Canon Compliant, Developing Relationship, Gen, Kidnapping, M/M, Moriarty is Alive, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Post-Canon, Relationship(s), Self-Discovery, Tags May Change, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-31
Updated: 2018-03-14
Packaged: 2018-12-22 07:42:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11962839
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fabricdragon/pseuds/fabricdragon
Summary: Surprise! Moriarty isn't dead!Jim Moriarty intended to drug Sherlock and John Watson with his new Amnesia drug- he wasn't expecting to catch Greg Lestrade, Mycroft Holmes... and himself too.  Oops?This work is complete.(there will be  at least one short sequel since i really like the dynamic of this Moriarty/Moran)





	1. What's Past Is Prologue

Jim Moriarty walked into 221B and stood looking at the scene in utter delight. Sherlock Holmes and John Watson he had expected–counted on–and Greg Lestrade wasn’t too much of a shock, but the great Mycroft Holmes? Jim snickered.

“Oh darling, when you wake up we’ll have SO much fun!”

“So they will wake up?” A very angry female voice was behind him, and he heard the quiet click of a safety going off. He carefully kept his hands in sight.

“Yes.”

“You’re supposed to be dead, aren’t you?”

“They should know: they killed me.”

“Lovely. Well, since they are going to wake up, Mister Moriarty, or Brook, or whichever you are–drink the tea.”

Jim’s eyes widened. “That… wouldn’t be a good–”

“Drink it or I put a hole in the back of your head for real.”

Jim prided himself on being able to read a voice, and that voice was utterly serious. He hoped desperately this was as free of side effects as his scientists promised and drank the tea. He helped himself to one of Mrs. Hudson’s biscuits.

“Lovely as always, Mrs. Hudson–very light and flaky. You were supposed to be out of town?”

“I offered to babysit Rosie when their sitter cancelled.”

“Ah. Any minute a team will be arriving to remove the unconscious people to another location… I would suggest you take Rosie and run along.” Jim felt the floor singing a siren song to him. “I’d hate to have a gunfight…”


	2. Chapter 2

People groaned and woke up.

“God, I’m so stiff!”

“Ow… What did I do to my shoulder?”

“…who are you?”

That last question caused everyone to sit up and look around. There were four of them awake, and two men still lying unmoving, although one of them opened his eyes.

“Don’t you know?” the man lying still with his eyes open asked curiously.

The shortest of the four frowned, “I don’t know who any of you are?”

“The worse problem, I suspect,” said the raven-haired man, who was sitting up against a bookshelf as his pale eyes looked off at nothing, “is that I have no idea who I am either.”

The man lying down inhaled sharply. “Not at all?” he asked worriedly.

The tallest man with the russet hair frowned, “I… am concerned. I do not know any of you, nor do I know who I am… but I feel like I should.”

“Obviously we should know who we are!” the raven-haired man snapped.

“I meant… that I should know who you are,” Russet said thoughtfully. “You seem extremely familiar–even to the point that it doesn’t surprise me that you snapped at me.”

“He does that, I think,” the shortest man said. “Damned if I know why, but yeah–seems familiar.”

The man with the grey hair looked over at the two lying down–one unconscious, one not. “So who… are you two?”

The man who was awake just shrugged, “If you don’t know, I have no idea how I would.”

The raven-haired man tried to jump up and found himself wobbling and had to grab at the bookshelf for support. The shortest man came over immediately, “Stop that! Giving yourself a concussion won’t help!”

“Maybe we HAD a concussion?” the grey-haired man asked. “Concussion… yeah, that sounds right…”

“No,” he said staring into the Raven-haired man’s eyes. “His eyes would be… Wait, how do I know that?”

“You are very likely medical,” said the russet-haired man quietly. “I suggest we try to get ourselves comfortable and assess our surroundings and condition.”

“He won’t wake up.” The man who had been lying down got up and carefully picked up the other man.

“Is he breathing okay?”

“I think so.”

The grey-haired man pulled himself to his feet and looked around. “We’re in an old style house, lots of room… bookcases, hey! There’s bottled water over there, a whole case…”

“It’s not water,” the raven-haired man said. “It’s … It’s…” He frowned. “I can’t think of the word.”

“It’s good for you, that’s what it is,” said the short man, marching over and coming back with six bottles. He handed one to everyone and two to the tall blondish man looking worried at the smaller brunette who was still unconscious. “Don’t try to give it to him unconscious: he’ll choke.”

“The first order of business is to assess what we can recall or sense about ourselves.”

“Since when are you in charge?” The Raven-haired man glared at him.

“Well that appears to be part one: assess ourselves… I assumed I was in charge.”

“You’re not,” the short blond man said firmly.

“Then who is?”

The grey-haired man spoke up slowly, “I don’t think any of us are in any condition to be ‘in charge’ right now, but I agree we need to try to assess. I have pockets, but nothing in them, so… I think I should have things in them, which means someone took them.”

“That makes sense.”

The short man clutched at his chest and then his neck. “Something’s missing.” He frowned, “I should… have something.”

At that point the unconscious man groaned and opened his eyes.

“Do YOU remember anything?” The raven-haired man almost leapt at him.

The larger man growled at him instantly, “Back off!”

“Wha?” The brunette looked around and panicked. He threw himself away from the rest of them and cowered into the corner. “Who are you?! Stay away!” He was scrabbling in his pants and down his leg as though–

“You… should have a weapon,” the russet-haired man said.

“YES! Where is it, get away!”

The larger man started making careful motions toward him, looking stunned. “Sir? Sir, it’s okay…” Then, as if a shutter closed over his eyes, he said, “I think… I hope it will be.”

“You worked for him,” the russet-haired man said immediately.

“Obvious!” the raven-haired man snorted.

“Somehow that’s really familiar…” the short man said slowly, staring at the russet and raven-haired men.

“Everyone stand DOWN!” The grey-haired man stood up and his voice was firm and certain. It made everyone else feel a bit better–except possibly for the brunette, who was twisting and looking around frantically.

“Okay… none of us remembers who we are, how we got here, or who anyone else is. A lot of stuff feels familiar, so… we just have to work it out.”

“I believe I said that.”

“Yeah? Well, does anyone know how to get a fire started in that fireplace? Because it’s getting chilly and that’s not going to help any of us.”

“Err… I think I do?” said the tall blond. “Are… are you alright?” He was looking worried at the brunette who seemed to be calming down just a little, although his breath was coming in ragged gasps. “Do you remember anything?”

“Who…” He looked around warily, his eyes skittering over everyone and everything. “Knight. Guardian. Crusader. Privateer. Inquisitor,” he said, his voice stuttering and stammering as he pressed further into the wall.

“What?” the tall blond man asked him gently. “What’s that?”

“Kn-knight.”

“Me?” The tall blond man smiled, “Okay.”

“Privateer…” the raven-haired man said slowly. “That’s… a pirate with a letter of marque.”

“Suits you, somehow,” said the russet-haired man. “I assume that was you, although it didn’t seem to be in any order.”

“So who am I?” the shorter blond smiled faintly and then looked curiously at the brunette and frowned. “And why… why does he seem to know us so well?”

“Guard. Guardian,” the brunette stammered, looking at the short blond. “You… You won’t hurt me, you’ll just kill me.” He bared his teeth and scrabbled at his leg for what everyone assumed should be a knife.

“Uh… I won’t hurt you, I’ll just kill you? What?”

The raven-haired man looked thoughtful. “That… sounds right.”

“I don’t understand?” the grey-haired man frowned and for some reason several of the other men laughed.

“That… sounded right,” smiled the raven-haired man at the grey-haired man. “As if you say that a lot?”

“So what am I?”

“Crusader,” the brunette said firmly. “Cop.”

The grey-haired man gasped, “Somehow… that’s… that’s right…”

“I presume I am ‘Inquisitor’, then?” The russet-haired man frowned, “It… doesn’t sound right. The other’s sounded right, but that doesn’t.” He then turned sharp eyes to the brunette. “The knight works for you, of that I am certain–so who are you?” and there was a sneer and a threat in his voice.

The tall blond–Knight–immediately put himself between his brunette charge and the russet-haired man, “Well, Ginger, if you threaten him again what YOU are gonna be is dead.”

“I don’t think I’m anyone…” The brunette said quietly.

“Well, if I’m your Knight you have to be the King, right?” Knight said, without taking his eyes off the russet-haired man.

The brunette just laughed in a shaky fashion. “That’s funny. Like a King would be sitting here not even knowing who they are.”

“I suggest we all simply choose names to be called so we know who we are talking to, and… Knight there can get the fire started as…” He raised a questioning eyebrow at the “Crusader”. “as this gentleman suggested.”

“I think Crusader is a mouthful,” he admitted. “And cop? That… that might be my job?”

“Silver? For your hair?” The russet-haired man smiled faintly–it seemed out of place on his face, as though he didn’t smile often.

“His hair is GREY…” the raven-haired man frowned. “For a moment, I had a name for you, but it’s gone now.”

“Grey suits me, I guess.” The grey-haired man smiled and suddenly looked much younger.

“You said I might be medical?” the short blond looked at the russet-haired man, but the brunette answered immediately, “Doc.”

“How do you know?”

“It’s obvious!” huffed the raven-haired man. “Just look at your hands! The way you look at everyone, the fact that you checked a pulse without even thinking!”

“Then call me Doc.”

“I am not named Inquisitor and I doubt he is named Privateer; also, they are both cumbersome names.”

The black-haired man “Hmmpphed” and said, “If he is called Grey, then why not call you Ginger and me Raven?”

“I am most certainly not being called Ginger!”

“Here’s a question,” Grey looked at the Russet-haired Inquisitor thoughtfully. “Why do you assume you can dictate to him but not us?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You ASKED me about what to call me–you dictated to him.”

“I say call the bastard Ginger, or Inquisitor or whatever you want, but if he sneers at… at him,” he nodded at the brunette, “again you won’t be calling him much of anything.”

Knight straightened up, “Fires started, it will need watching until we get the bigger logs going.”

“Why do you care?” The brunette was still huddled over by the wall, but now he had his arms wrapped around his stomach.

“I just do.”

“Well, Raven is a good name,” the black-haired man smiled suddenly. “Sounds like a privateer, anyway.”

“You’re going to keep ‘Knight’ then?” Doc asked.

“If he says I’m called Knight, then it’s good enough for me.” He looked thoughtful. “I can’t come up with anything better anyway.”

Grey nodded. “So what do we call you?” he nodded at the Russet-haired man. “Because I do agree that Inquisitor is a mouthful–besides, you don’t seem very much like an Inquisitor.”

“He is. He’ll hurt you,” the brunette said quietly.

The man in question frowned, “Why would I hurt him?”

“Because you hurt people.”

“How do you know? Why do you think so?!”

“Because you DO!” the brunette screamed at him suddenly.

“No one hurts him on my watch!” Knight growled and his hands flexed.

“Woah, overreacting a tad, aren’t you?” Grey frowned. “He hasn’t done anything…”

“Then why do I KNOW he’ll hurt me?” the brunette snarled.

“You seem to have a number of very strong emotional associations to each of us,” Raven said thoughtfully. “I agree with…” he quirked a smile, “Ginger… that we should assess what we each think we know.”

“THAT is not my name!”

Doc sighed, “Okay, one of the items on the agenda: come up with a name for…. those two.” He indicated the brunette and the russet-haired man. “Anyone else want tea? I need tea.”

Raven looked up, “Tea… that’s right. You and tea. That’s a strong association.”

“We should find out what food there is, anyway,” Doc said and walked into the kitchen. Shortly afterwards, he was backing out. “The kitchen is full of apples.”

There was a confused chorus of “What?” and “Let me see” and shortly afterwards everyone was in the kitchen. There was indeed a basket full of apples; there was also a jar of apple butter, apple jam, dried apples, and an apple pie under a protective cover. Knight started snickering.

“What’s so funny?” Grey asked.

“It just is,” Knight said with a broad grin.

“This… means something,” Raven frowned.

“Obviously it means something!” Doc snorted.

“It means someone left us food,” the Brunette said thoughtfully. “The raw stuff is hard to poison if we wash it, and I think the jars are safe.”

“Poison?” Doc stared at him.

The russet-haired man nodded, “We should be concerned for that.”

“Not really,” Raven shrugged.

“Why not?” He arched his eyebrow and sniffed down at him.

“Whoever left us here is likely responsible for our current lack of memories. If they wanted to kill us they hardly need to hide the poison.” Raven smirked at him. “However, I would expect that apples are supposed to mean something to one or more of us.” He turned to look at Knight, “You thought it was funny?”

“Yeah, but… I can’t really explain it; it was just funny.” Knight shrugged. “Sorry.”

Grey had been opening cabinets. “We have bread and beans, so breakfast is good… Looks like a lot of canned goods.”

“We should eat the pie: it won’t keep.”

“Perhaps I should call you pie or pudding?” Raven smirked.

“Stop it,” the Brunette said quietly. “He’ll take it out on us.”

Doc frowned at the Brunette and then at the larger man, “Why is he so afraid of you? He said I wouldn’t hurt him, I’d just kill him, but you… He is certain you are going to hurt us all.”

“I have no idea.”

Grey sighed, “Get the pie, get something to drink and some plates, and let’s go sit down where we can keep an eye on things and try to figure stuff out.”


	3. Chapter 3

Everyone sat down at the table with pie and a pot of tea; they’d found pencils and a pad of paper as well.

“First order of business is that I am not to be called Ginger or Inquisitor,” the Russet-haired man said firmly. “I will neither answer to them nor speak to anyone who uses that form of address.”

“Delightful, Ginger,” Raven smirked. “I look forward to blissful silence.”

Doc frowned, “You two… you’re always like that. Always. I know that. This is normal.”

Grey frowned, “Normally I’d say they were lovers then, but that’s not–”

Raven and the Russet-haired man both shuddered in unison. “Ugh!” Russet made scrubbing motions with his hands against his vest.

“Grotesque!” Raven sputtered. “How could you even think that?!”

“He’s my brother, for God’s sake, Grey!” Russet exclaimed and then froze. Raven and his eyes tracked to each other and they were suddenly locked, staring at each other.

Doc sighed, “Go ahead and get your pie: we won’t hear from them until they’re done,” and he started cutting pie and serving tea.

Knight kept looking around curiously, but his eyes always tracked back worriedly to the Brunet. The Brunet meanwhile kept his head down and ate quietly.

Abruptly Raven and Russet started talking over each other: “brother, privateer, letter of marque, government, intelligence? Yes! Inquisitor, doctor, we need, analysis, personal, clothing, shoes!”

“Slow it down for the rest of us?” Doc sighed, as though this was normal.

The Russet-haired man stated firmly, “I am his older brother. I work in some form of intelligence, probably government, which is why he is a privateer with a letter of marque: he is authorized to do something that would otherwise be questionable, possibly by me. While I still do not feel that ‘Inquisitor’ suits me, I likely work in intelligence-gathering, so it may be something of my job–much like Grey is a policeman. The question is why we four seem very familiar with each other but not with those two–and that gentleman seems to have such firm opinions.”

“I’m familiar with him,” Raven said. “I don’t know how, but I am.” He frowned at the Brunet. “I don’t think I know Knight, though–obviously they know each other.”

Grey sighed, “You two are brothers–that makes sense. Can we work out a name then? Because as soon as we do, I think we need to start figuring out what we know about ourselves and each other.”

Raven nodded at the Brunet. “You named a lot of us, or labeled us at least–what do you want to be called?”

“Cipher,” he said quietly.

“Suits…” nodded The Russet-haired brother.

“We could call you Suits: you’re wearing one,” commented Knight. Cipher laughed briefly and Knight smiled.

“No.”

Doc shrugged, “Then come up with a name.”

“Guardian seemed more suited to me, than to you, despite… Cipher’s opinion.” He shrugged, “It’s still a mouthful.”

Grey wrote that down. “Okay, so you work in government, probably intelligence, and you think you are a guardian. You are his older brother.” He frowned down at his paper. “When I try to think about you I mostly think you’re spooky, mysterious–I don’t know why–and have some association with cars…”

“Cars…” Doc muttered. “That’s right…. If I’m associated with tea, he’s associated with cars?”

Raven shrugged, “Seeing that he is my older brother, I suppose it’s no surprise that I find him annoying–”

His brother chuckled, “That is no shock.”

“But of the things I am willing to say publically, I think Guardian suits him–for some reason the term ‘mother’ comes to mind, but I suppose that’s the guardian or caretaker aspect.” He was looking off thoughtfully, “He has a sweet tooth…”

“You were teasing him about pudding in the kitchen,” Doc interjected.

“What do you think of me?” the man in question asked Doc.

“I thought a lot of your bickering was familiar–the way you two act to each other. Cars, yeah… I… I think you tried to frighten me? Or I used to think you were frightening?” He frowned at Cipher, “His opinion that you were dangerous or scary or would hurt us… I don’t think you would hurt ME… but I believe that you would hurt other people…”

Everyone looked at Knight. “What?”

“Your turn.”

“I don’t think I even KNOW you!”

“You had an opinion. You reacted to M…” Raven frowned. “Mmm…. Something Mmmm. In any event, you reacted.”

“He scared… Cipher. Then he sneered at him. I don’t need to know much else.”

“But you do,” the as-yet unlabeled man said. “You know, or have opinions, but you don’t trust us so you don’t want to say them.”

Doc shrugged, “Those two… they don’t trust us.”

Raven looked thoughtful. “I know Cipher. I don’t know Knight. I trust… or at least I feel like I can predict… you three, but no… not those two, not even Cipher.”

Grey sighed. “You three are familiar. I feel like I can trust all three of you, and I don’t feel like I know those two.”

Unlabeled sighed and looked at both of them intently. “Cipher I know. I… hate him… I think.” Knight bristled. “There is some feeling of guilt? I dislike it.”

Raven was also looking at them intently, “I don’t hate him, I just don’t trust him… and something about him makes me…worry? But not… It’s not clear.”

Doc looked at Cipher and sighed, “I look at him and I get panicky–but I feel jealous? I dunno.” He looked at Knight. “He’s military. I don’t know him, but I’m certain I was military and I’m sure he is or was.”

“Cipher… could have been in intelligence, brother?” Raven glanced at the older man. “Perhaps opposing you somehow?”

“That… sounds right.”

Cipher just shrugged. “I’m afraid of you,” he nodded at the older brother, “I think I like you,” he nodded at Raven, “ I don’t care about you at all, but you’re familiar,” he said to Grey, “and Doc makes me jealous as fuck and I want to cut his throat, but it’s not personal.” He shrugged.

“How can you want to cut his throat and it isn’t personal!” Grey sputtered.

“He… I don’t know. I feel jealous…” He looked at Doc. “You said you feel jealous.”

Doc nodded, everyone else noticed that he didn’t seem even slightly surprised that Cipher wanted to cut his throat.

“I guess we dated the same girl?” Doc said after a pause.

“Girls!” Cipher snorted.

“Gay,” Raven drawled. “Obviously gay.”

“I’m not gay… wait, that sounded familiar.” Doc frowned. “Like people thought I was?”

“Does it matter?” asked Cipher.

“We are trying to get our memories back!”

“Pick a name, will you!”

Raven sighed, “Just everyone call him Brother until we figure it out, alright?”

Cipher shrugged, “We won’t get our memories back unless whatever happened to us is temporary; otherwise, we may figure things out, but….”

“Knight still hasn’t gone.”

“Oh, good grief… Fine!” He frowned. “Yeah, I must work for him. If he says jump, I’ll jump. If he told me to cut all of your throats, I would.”

“Interesting that you think that’s what he would order you to do. And that he wanted to cut Doc’s throat.”

“Just as likely to send me out for his damn coffee,” Knight muttered. “Anyway… Grey is alright. I kind of like him. I don’t think I know him, but he seems okay. Doc…? Yeah, military. I can respect that.” He nodded at Doc and the man returned the nod. “I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked at Raven. “I think you’re a very brilliant man and a complete idiot.” Raven sat up and started to protest but his brother was snickering.

“And my brother?” Rave asked archly.

“I agree with him,” he nodded at Cipher. “He’ll try to hurt us, or at least he’ll hurt Cipher and me–he did say he hated him. Other than that? No clue.”

Raven shrugged, “So I do something that would be questionable, but I do it officially so it’s alright; Grey is a policeman; my brother is in government intelligence; Doc is former military and a doctor; Knight is former military and a sniper–”

“Sniper?”

“Callouses on his jawline and cheek, along with the specific callouses on his hands, indicate many hours with a rifle in position–it’s obvious.”

Knight sat back blinking. “Wow…”

Doc smiled, “Yeah, wow. I suspect I said that a lot.”

Raven continued, “And Cipher is involved in intelligence or spying and opposing my brother.”

Brother cleared his throat, “It makes sense that the four of us might know each other, except for Doc… but… I am quite certain that he belongs with our group.”

Raven looked curious, “Doc… you haven’t said what you thought of me?”

Doc stared at him with a frozen look and abruptly jumped up, “So… let’s explore the house a bit? We may be able to figure out how to get help, or where we are… and find stuff.”

“Getting help may be difficult.” Brother sighed. “We don’t know who is friend and who is foe.”

Grey shrugged, “Exploring the house sounds good, though.”

“For God’s sake, don’t split up too much!” Knight suddenly snapped. “If there are traps or enemies, we need numbers.”

“I believe you two may be our enemies.”

Raven frowned, “No. If they were enemies they wouldn’t be in the same position we are in.”

Cipher shrugged and looked at Brother. “We might BE enemies, but it seems like we have a common cause, and maybe a common enemy. Truce?”

“Truce,” Brother nodded firmly, “until such time as we recover our memories, or manage a return to safety at least.”


	4. Chapter 4

All six of them were back around the table.

“Can anyone cook?” Doc asked tiredly. “I think I can manage the basics, but I’m not sure.

“Doubt it,” Grey said after a moment’s thought.

“No,” Raven shook his head, “I’m fairly certain I cannot.”

Knight grimaced, “I suspect my cooking is sort of a last ditch thing.”

“I… think so?” Brother frowned. “I expect I would have to try.”

Everyone looked at Cipher, who just shrugged, “No idea.”

Brother shrugged, “May as well see what we can manage then.”

Everyone followed the two of them to the kitchen. Brother took his jacket off and rolled his sleeves back. Cipher took off his jacket and tie and carefully folded them away; he did the same with his shirt. He started going through the cabinets down near the floor.

“What are you doing?” Brother asked him curiously.

“Looking for an– here it is.” He hauled out an apron and made a face at it. “Ugh.” It was pink with white hearts on it and covered in ruffles.

Knight started choking when Cipher put it on. “That is SO not you,” he finally managed.

Doc shook his head, “I don’t think that is any of us!”

Brother was getting out ingredients. “Yes, well… I doubt it was left for our comfort.”

Cipher shrugged, “It’s a dig–the pattern and color–but at least they left us an apron.”

Raven suddenly looked around, “We have been forgetting the obvious. We were SO set on looking for clues we missed the OBVIOUS clue!”

Everyone stopped and looked at him, even Brother. “Which is?” Brother raised an eyebrow.

“Everything in this house is set up for three at the most: two beds were made up, but there was one set of extra bedding ‘just in case’; three mugs for tea or coffee; I suspect the only reason there was enough dishware and cutlery is because they bought a set…”

Brother frowned, “The amount of food that is fresh is far better suited to two than to six. We have plenty of tinned goods but… indeed.”

“One apron?” Cipher looked questioningly at Raven.

He nodded, “That’s what finally clicked–I feel rather foolish for not seeing it earlier.”

Grey frowned, “So… whoever put us here figures you need an apron to cook.”

“Given that we were not provided with changes of clothing,” Brother said with a frown, “that is not unwarranted; but yes, it does tell us a great deal about our captor.”

Knight just frowned, but Raven was talking again at his rapid fire pace, “There are only two people who can cook–or were of the opinion that they can cook–Brother and Doc. Grey and I were fairly certain we could not, Knight is certain his cooking is substandard, and Cipher didn’t know. However! He is the only one who immediately went for an apron to cook, and only one apron was provided. It seems likely then that Cipher was one of the intended targets of two.”

Cipher stared at him and then looked down at the apron and frowned. “You… need an apron… too keep your clothes clean… but this… this is…” He looked up thoughtfully. “It’s very girly, and we are all men. It’s an insult, or an attempted one.”

“You’re gay,” nodded Doc. “You think it’s a slap at you?”

Brother looked around thoughtfully. “But Doc immediately protested that he wasn’t, and said he felt like he did that a lot. Cipher could be the intended recipient, since he immediately went for the apron to cook, but so could Doc, as someone who is protesting that he isn’t gay.”

Grey shrugged, “Or you could be over-thinking it.”

“What do you mean?”

“If our CAPTOR assumes you need an apron, and meant it as an insult, he–or she–might just think some guy would have to wear an apron to cook or get his clothes messed up; might figure we would be too upset by the insult to use it; might just snicker at the guy for wearing such a girly apron.”

Doc sighed, “So? Let’s cook something?”

Brother started pulling things down and after a pause asked Cipher if he understood the difference between “mince” and “chop”.

Cipher shrugged, “Uh… Mince is smaller?”

Brother took the knife and demonstrated, “Like so,” he raised an eyebrow, “if you can.”

Cipher snorted, “If the knives weren’t so dull, it would be easier.”

Grey frowned, “They aren’t dull…” He tried to test a knife against his thumb and promptly yipped and sucked on the spot of blood. Brother frowned and waved Doc over to patch him up.

Knight pulled out a sharpening kit. “So? I’ll sharpen, you cook.”

Everyone watched as Cipher effortlessly sliced the few vegetables to order, and shaved the tinned meat into paper-thin pieces under Brother’s direction.

Brother meanwhile seemed to be taking the ingredients that the rest of them had been certain could be nothing other than porridge or soup and turning it into something like very fine crepes rolled around a savory filling. Cipher surprised them all by carving the apples into roses as plate decorations.

Brother and Cipher seemed to have mended their differences somehow, since when Raven looked questioningly at the ‘roses’ Brother simply stated, “We are not barbarians, Raven; even under such conditions, we can observe the niceties.”

Raven snorted, “That’s so you, Brother.”

“Somehow I didn’t picture you cooking,” Cipher said half way through the meal–it was the first thing he’d said since commenting on the knives.

Brother looked thoughtful, “Likewise.”

After dinner and clean up, they went over the facts again: they had knives–from the kitchen, but of good quality–pots and pans, and limited electrical; no changes of clothing, but they did have towels; a washer but no dryer–clotheslines in plenty, however, which also meant rope.

“And no idea where we are, or whether we would encounter friend or foe if we tried to hike out.”

“At least we have electricity,” Knight sighed, “and we may not have an axe, but there was a good pile of firewood.”

Brother frowned, “The shelves of sealed flour and other hard rations imply this was either intended as a long-term safe house–or a long-term prison.”

“I’d like to save the hard liquor we found for medical needs: the medical kit we found was good, but being able to sterilize a knife can be critical,” said Doc.

Raven grumbled, “The books made no sense.”

“Err… what?” Doc asked.

Knight sighed, “Maybe they only make sense to some of you? Or… is there something hidden in the pages?”

There was a bit of a scramble as everyone realized they hadn’t looked inside the books. They turned out to be just books, with nothing apparently hidden in them.

“It is a rather odd selection…” Doc said flushing.

Grey was turning a few colors himself. “Well, the Shibori-kanbuki-whatever book explains why we found so much laundry rope in weird colors upstairs in the bedroom…”

“A great deal of this reading material is expressly geared toward homosexual sex or relationships,” Brother said thoughtfully. “The rest appears to be aimed at an eclectic reading interest.”

Knight was staying as far away from the bookshelves as he could. Brother reached over and picked up the book Knight had been looking at before he backed away. Brother raised an eyebrow, “Detailed descriptions and line drawings of sex positions for male-male couples? I believe that confirms the theme of the books.”

“Then why ‘The Complete Annotated Alice’, and ‘A History of the World in Six Glasses’, and ‘Salt: A World History’, and all these other food history books?”

“’The Annotated Alice’ is the one that stands out, you know, so it must mean something,” Grey nodded.

Raven shrugged, “Well, it explains why I kept finding lube and condoms in every drawer.”

Doc managed to choke out, “Well, uh, safety first?”

Everyone sat down for a while longer. Finally, Raven broke the silence: “So… The two bedrooms that were set up have a connecting door; the feminine apron; the lube and condoms; the books… Whoever put us here was either expecting sex, or taunting the intended parties about sex.”

“Could be either,” Doc nodded, still rather flushed.

Brother shrugged, “Could be both. If the targets had been resistant to a sexual relationship, this might be arranged to remove their inhibitions.”

“Wouldn’t getting people drunk work just as well?”

“Not always,” Brother answered coolly.

Raven shrugged, “Excess alcohol consumption makes it difficult for many men to get an erection, so if the goal was to get two men to have sex, alcohol is a poor choice.”

Doc turned utterly purple, and Cipher started cackling at him.

“Pity this wasn’t set up for us,” Knight muttered.

“How do you know it wasn’t?” Brother asked.

“Oh God, you heard that?” he said with wide eyes and then he slowly turned his head and looked over at Cipher, who was staring at him with a completely blank expression on his face.

Knight went sort of green. “Sorry, Sir.”

“You… are saying… that you… are interested in me?”

“I didn’t exactly say that.” Knight looked around as though he was searching for an escape route or support, but the others were mostly watching in varying degrees of shock, embarrassment, or–in Raven’s case–acute interest.

Cipher suddenly snarled, and went from an almost invisible nobody to the most dangerous man in the room, “ANSWER ME!”

Knight gulped and finally answered as though he was signing his death warrant, “Yes, Sir.”

Very calmly, Cipher asked, “Why?”

“I… uh… don’t think I can answer that right now, I just do–am–whatever.” He closed his eyes. “And I would really appreciate not dying, just yet.”

“I’m not going to kill you.”

He opened an eye dubiously, “You’re not?”

“I have to think. I had no interest in you, but I trust you.” He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Fetch me that rope book.”

Knight got it and brought it to him immediately.

“Go find snacks, Knight, and makes some hot chocolate. I’m reading.”

“Right….” Knight got up and went quietly into the kitchen.

Grey looked around, “Maybe we’re the odd ones out and this was set up for those two?”

“It seems likely,” Doc agreed.

“In any case,” Raven said drily, “I advise you not to pursue any interests until we go and search the rooms again.”

“We already searched them!”

Brother cleared his throat. “Yes, but given what we know now? It’s more than likely the rooms are bugged: cameras.” He spread his hands. “It seems likely.”

Doc and Grey looked embarrassed and upset, but Cipher nodded, “Yes. Take people who might normally be guarded, drop them all alone with inspiration and nothing to do?”

Doc sighed, “Bloody hell.”


	5. Chapter 5

Once they were looking for bugs instead of weapons, tools, or people, they found plenty. Every room had at least one camera or microphone and the bedrooms were rather thoroughly recorded.

“Even the bathrooms had cameras!” Doc said in exasperation when they reconvened.

“Only one, and aimed at the shower, which says a great deal about what they wished to film.” Brother sighed.

“So? Cover the cameras and move on,” said Cipher, who was still reading the rope book.

“Move on?” Grey said incredulously.

“We have been rather deliberately robbed of our memories, abandoned here with all of this, and set up for someone’s amusement,” Cipher said calmly. “So obviously I’m going to kill them when I catch up to them, but unlike what I initially thought we don’t appear to be in actual danger.”

“Initially?” Raven asked.

“You all seemed strange and threatening; I assumed I had been dumped here to be hurt,” he shrugged.

“You did seem convinced I would hurt you…” Brother looked thoughtfully around.

“I still think you… will is a strong word, certainly you are likely to.” Cipher sighed, “But for right now as stated we all seem to be in the same boat.”

Doc looked at Grey with a mournful look and they both nodded. Doc asked, “Okay, so Grey, me, and maybe Knight are all usually a few steps behind the rest of you; can you spell out our current theory?” Knight looked grateful at him.

Brother nodded. “Our best guess at the moment is that only a few of us were the intended residents of this fishbowl. Our behavior without our memories to guide us was expected to provide amusement, and possibly blackmail, to our captors, but there doesn’t seem to be an easy way to harm any of us here. If our captors wanted to hurt us they would have to come get us, and we are not without resources.”

Grey sighed, “They would have guns–we wouldn’t.”

“Killing us would negate the blackmail, in most cases,” Raven said thoughtfully, his hands steepled to his chin.

“Maybe whoever it is thought that without your memories you wouldn’t be able to figure stuff out or defend yourselves?” Knight asked, but he sounded dubious.

“Possible, but unlikely,” Brother answered calmly. “Now, we need rest, but all of us being unconscious would put us at risk–I suggest sleeping in shifts.”

“After we disable the cameras, I assume,” Raven commented with a raised eyebrow.

“I wasn’t planning on doing anything blackmail-able,” Brother sniffed at him.

Raven smirked, “Interesting that your mind is in the gutter, brother mine. I simply don’t want our observers to know if we are awake or asleep.”

Brother flushed faintly and Cipher grinned.

Cipher looked up, “Well, once we get rid of those cameras I plan on experimenting with ropes and Knight here, so I suggest–”

“What?!” Knight startled badly and then stared at him.

Cipher looked at him and raised an eyebrow, “You did indicate an interest.”

“Uh… yes?”

He waved the book. “This looks interesting, and I’m bored.”

“God forbid anyone gets bored,” muttered Doc.

Raven looked a bit unsettled. “Tying one of our combatants up while we are under threat seems unwise.”

“Hmm.” Cipher frowned. “I don’t think I want to BE tied up…”

Knight started clenching his jaw and looked somewhere in between panicked and poleaxed.

Grey calmly said, “If you two want to have sex, by all means, but I have to agree with Raven: tying up anyone would make us vulnerable.”

“It is likely why that book and all the rope were left,” Brother said thoughtfully. “Hoping that whoever was here would reduce their opposition voluntarily.”

“How annoying,” Cipher grumbled.

“If…” Knight cleared his throat. “There is a great deal that can be done without tying anyone up, but is that a good idea when none of us remember anything? Uh… Once our memories come back, if any of us have done something we would regret…”

“There is that,” Grey said thoughtfully. “What if that’s part of the blackmail? That whoever the target or targets were have loved ones who aren’t here, or get together with someone only to find out that they were involved with someone else…”

Raven sighed, “More to the point, all of you assume that sex is something that seems likely?”

Knight muttered, “I hadn’t thought so….”

Raven looked at him, “But you were interested. In the pursuit of a solution to this mystery, how many of us are interested in sex with at least one of the other people here?”

Everyone froze for a moment. Raven sighed, “At least in theory?”

Knight reluctantly raised his hand.

Grey slowly raised his hand, “I don’t actually think I know any of you well enough, at least not… you know… right now? But in theory there is at least some interest.”

Doc muttered, “What Grey said: in theory.”

Cipher looked up, “It seems like an interesting concept, anyway. Something I might not mind doing? But no, it’s nothing I would go out of my way for, I think… Still, once it was suggested it does seem like something to do.”

Raven looked suddenly thoughtful, “I was going to say I have no interest at all, but… very well, it is not something I would have started, but not something I would object to with the right partner… however, not now.”

Brother said coolly, “At this moment, with my mind not functioning well for lack of data, I would refuse to engage in any such thing–at least in part for the reasons Grey stated: I would hate to betray a trust, however inadvertent. In addition, I am extremely leery of providing our captor with any further weapons.”

Grey nodded, “Then I suggest we disable the cameras and bugs as much as we can, and start getting sleep in shifts.”

Doc nodded at Raven, “He’s looking unwell; I suggest we take the morning shift and go to bed now.”

“Interesting that you two paired off so quickly…” Cipher murmured. “Knight and I, you and Raven…” He looked at Grey and Brother, “Are you two feeling specifically associated?”

“No,” Brother said, blinking at Cipher and then looking at Raven and Doc. “Indeed, I am entirely unsurprised by their association. Yours seems established but… I do not believe I know Knight, as I said.”

Grey sighed, “Honestly? And I’m only saying this in the hopes we figure something out from it… I think I expected Doc and Raven to pair off; I have no idea of the rest of you… I…” he chewed his lip, “I think Raven is attractive, but I have absolutely no interest in him.”

Cipher didn’t think he was the only one to notice the faint relief from Brother, but he was apparently the only one wiling to ask… “So, attracted to Brother there?”

Grey winced and Brother’s expression got very neutral.

“Actually…”

“Of course he isn’t attracted to me,” Brother said in a very cool voice, “If he finds Raven attractive I doubt he would–”

“That isn’t what I was saying! I… I was saying you seem very interesting, and I think I COULD be involved with you, have a relationship with you… but I don’t think we already DID because I don’t think I know you that well.”

Brother looked utterly stunned.

“Huh…” Knight was rubbing his chin. “Whether by intent or accident, we have three potential pairs…”

Raven shrugged, “Two established pairs of some kind, and one potential. We haven’t explored the idea of relationships in larger than two–”

“Is... that something you… uh…” Doc was spluttering.

Raven looked at him in confusion, “We are trying to establish our situation and many of us have strong ‘feelings’,” he said it with distaste, “that are likely indicative of old memories. I am quite certain that the two of us belong together in a way that is different than my familiarity with Grey, or my relationship with my brother. I still don’t know Knight at all–he appears to be the odd man out here–but I DO appear to have some kind of past history with Cipher…”

Doc looked dubiously at Cipher, “I have absolutely no inclination to sleep with him in the room–I don’t trust him.”

“And that is the point,” Raven shrugged. “Our memories seem to be informing our opinions even if we cannot access them.”

Brother sighed, “You are missing the obvious because you don’t wish to see it, Raven.”

Raven bristled.

“Both Doc and Cipher said the emotion they felt when dealing with each other is mistrust and jealousy. Doc suggested they had been involved with the same woman and Cipher immediately laughed that off. Cipher is gay, I believe we are clear on that?” Everyone nodded. “It seems evident that the two of them were competing over the same man: you.”

Knight just looked pained–he apparently agreed. Grey looked startled but then his eyes tracked to Doc slowly.

“I’m… not gay?” Doc was bright red.

Raven was looking at him curiously, “You wouldn’t tell me what you thought when you looked at me…”

Cipher and Brother both snorted and almost in unison said, “That’s obvious!” Cipher then looked startled at Brother and laughed.

“Odd that everyone associates close relationships with sex.” Raven looked amused. “But… why would these two be competing over me?”

Cipher looked amused, “I don’t remember, but the three of us ARE the smartest people in the room.”

Brother waved a hand, “Enough. Everyone is getting tired and we are going around in circles. Doc has said that Raven doesn’t look well and I agree: he looks tired and somewhat pale. Go to sleep. You and Doc take will take the morning shift.”

Knight shrugged, “I’m military, I bet I do better with interrupted sleep than most of you, so Brother and Greg take first watch, Cipher and I will take the middle one–don’t try to wake him up, I have the feeling he’ll flail for a knife like he did when he woke up the first time. Wake me up.”

Raven looked suddenly struck, “I remember something…”

Everyone stared at him with varying degrees of interest or worry.

“Yes?” Brother asked

“Doc… wakes up the same way sometimes. I remember…” Raven looked distant. “He was tossing and turning and unhappy, and I tried to wake him up… He was yelling–I didn’t understand him–and he tackled me… After that, if he had a nightmare I played violin for him instead…”

Doc looked dumbfounded.

Grey asked slowly, “So you lived together?”

“Yes. Yes, we did…” Raven suddenly went cool and shrugged, “I don’t remember anything else.”

Brother and Cipher looked dubious but neither said anything.

Doc cleared his throat, “Well… That’s a good sign, isn’t it? Remembering?”

Everyone agreed and then Doc insisted that Raven go to bed. After a bit of argument everyone disabled the cameras in Doc and Raven’s rooms and left them to turn in while the other four stripped the other rooms.

Cipher and Knight vanished into their room immediately thereafter, leaving Grey and Brother alone.

“I had thought to make some bread for the morning…” Brother said hesitantly.

Grey smiled, “I meant it, you know.”

“Errr…. Meant what?”

“That you are very attractive, and smart as hell, and I adore the way you stay calm and take charge of things… but I just don’t know you well enough–or maybe don’t remember enough–to do anything right now.”

Brother flushed and set out the flour and started preparing counter space. “Ah… I… err… Well, yes, you are a very attractive man, and your command presence is extraordinary, when you use it.”

Grey grinned, “Kind of hard to take command when I feel like I’m behind… So what’s involved in making bread?”

“Mixing the ingredients and then kneading the dough to develop the gluten–which will take time and effort–and then permitting it to rise. Since we have very little packaged yeast we also need to set aside some dough for future use.”

“Can I help?”

“I believe I could use your assistance in kneading the dough… It is a bit messy: you might wish to take off your shirt or roll up your sleeves at the least.”

Grey stripped to the waist and tucked a towel around the front of his waist. “Good?”

Brother’s eyes flashed approvingly over Grey’s torso and arms before focusing back onto the bread. “Quite good… Let’s get started...”


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cipher and Knight have a little chat...

“You would honestly let me tie you up, wouldn’t you?” Cipher asked. He was sitting on the bed with a hank of black nylon rope in his hands. The remains of the bugs were in the toilet.

“I don’t advise it, sir; the others are… uh… questionable.” Knight was fidgeting and rubbing the back of his neck.

“If I ordered you?”

Knight gave him a desperate look, “I would… have to refuse, sir, as a matter of your safety.”

Cipher nodded and put the rope aside. “Give me your gun,” he said firmly and held out his hand.

Knight handed it over before he realized his mistake. Cipher just smiled and turned it in his hands. “You… alone among everyone… are armed.”

Knight bent his head. “Yes, sir.”

“You don’t have amnesia, do you?”

“No, sir.”

“But you didn’t do this,” Cipher said thoughtfully. “You wouldn’t do this… not to me, anyway…”

“No, never!”

Cipher handed him back the gun and he put it into the holster at the small of his back.

“You...” Knight fidgeted and finally just stood there, waiting.

“Do you know who did this?” Cipher asked.

“I THINK you did, sir.”

“Me?! Why the HELL would I do this to myself?! Wait… This was aimed at them? I’m…” he slowed thoughtfully. “Something went wrong? There was an accident?”

“I think so, sir. You… uh… didn’t tell me. I only found out by accident, but it was your men putting everyone here, so…” he sighed, “I usurped the operation, shot a couple people, and put myself in place to keep you safe. I... uh… didn’t know everyone would have amnesia. You didn’t tell me anything.”

Cipher tilted his head at him, “Is that usual?”

Knight shrugged, “Sometimes you tell me stuff–more than most of the other people; sometimes nothing at all.”

“Why did you think you needed to be here? You appear to be correct, but if I didn’t tell you, what made you think so?”

“I was supposed to be meeting with you to go over a project that… would have already started by now. You didn’t tell me it was being called off.”

Cipher nodded slowly. “We haven’t had sex?” he asked thoughtfully, glancing at the rope.

Knight flushed, “No, sir.”

“That’s why you thought I would kill you for expressing an interest?”

“Yes, sir. I… I would never do anything you didn’t want–”

“I can tell,” Cipher drawled. “So you know who the others are?”

“I have never met them, but… I know about them.” He sighed, “Correction: I have some confirmed information, and a lot of surmises based on the way you talk about them… when you remember. Do… Do you want to leave? I can get us out of here.”

“And you have no idea what I had planned? Or who the targets were?”

“No, sir. I could make some assumptions based on where everyone was passed out initially, but I can’t be sure; as I said, I tripped over it. Whatever it is, you didn’t tell me, but… I don’t think you were supposed to be here, based on not canceling the job… and I can’t imagine you would have given yourself amnesia? I guess it’s just possible the guy I shot had done something you didn’t expect…”

“You should have questioned him.”

“I… Yes, sir,” he said miserably. “I was worried about you.”

“How dangerous are they? Raven at least was recovering memories–I haven’t.”

“Raven is your… Do you want their names?”

“No, I might slip.”

Knight nodded, “Raven you always considered your equal. You… As far as I know, you never had sex, with him or with anyone I noticed, but you definitely… He interested you in some fashion.”

Cipher nodded, “Doc is his lover?”

“Uh, hard as that is to believe? No.”

“NO?!”

“They… were friends, and you snarled about the man a lot. I thought they were lovers but you said they weren’t, but I think… I think we both expected they would be? But apparently he got married, and I read an obituary for his wife–they have a kid, I think… They’ve been…. I think they’ve been a bit estranged?”

“I would have sworn…”

“Yeah, me too.”

Cipher murmured, “‘I’m not gay’… he said that–he said that a LOT…”

“Closeted?” Knight shrugged, “He’s a military doc; he might be really repressed.”

“Hmmm… How dangerous are the two of them?”

“Sh– Raven has decent hand-to-hand–I can take him, though–and can handle a gun, but not a problem. Your file on him said he may have sword skills but I never saw them. Doc is the problem: he’s a hardcore brawler, played rugby, top flight with a pistol. As a sniper I can pick any of them off, but… Doc MIGHT give me a run in hand-to-hand, I don’t know.” He looked thoughtful, “Short dudes are dangerous.”

Cipher snickered, “Am I short?”

Knight gave him a hesitant grin, “By that standard, sir, you are two feet tall.”

Cipher laughed and Knight relaxed some.

“Grey?”

“Cop. A good one. Honest, no other information.”

“So he wouldn’t shoot an unarmed man?”

“No, sir, not even a wanted criminal.”

Cipher nodded, “So a low level threat. What about Brother, he… he hurt me?”

“Raven’s older brother. I never had the details, but… yes, he hurt you.” Knight looked thoughtful, “He is in intelligence, lots of top secret stuff–I don’t know much about it, you never told me–and he had you interrogated. You never told me anything.”

“I hear a trend,” Cipher rolled his eyes. “How dangerous is he here? Can you take him?”

“Unknown, but I think so? Most of what you told me or showed me in a file was emphasizing his intellect and how many people worked for him; I have no idea what he, personally, can do.”

Cipher smirked, “So you had no idea he could cook?”

“Sir, with all due respect, I had no idea YOU could.”

“Do I have a lover or a boyfriend? I sure as hell don’t have a girlfriend.”

“I live near you most of the time, for security–have for over a year, and I have never seen any sign that you have sex, or even talk to anyone except for business.”

“How utterly boring.”

“That might just have been since I got the top bodyguard spot, sir. For all I know, you were involved and… uh… I don’t know.”

Jim snickered at the “I don’t know” and Knight managed to look even more miserable.

“You think I wanted Raven??”

“I think you were fascinated with him, but… I very much doubt you ever slept with him, if that’s what you’re asking, and you haven’t dealt with him in person–as far as I know–in years.” Knight fidgeted, “Everyone thinks you’re dead.”

“Do they? Clever of me…” Cipher looked thoughtful, “You think when I get my memory back–if I do–that I’ll be upset if you…?”

“I think if you had the slightest idea that I took advantage of your condition, you would kill me.” Knight sighed, “I could only hope it was quick.”

“And still you’re interested,” Cipher smirked. “You… are a very strange man.”

“Apparently, sir.”

Cipher looked at him in a very familiar fashion, assessing and evaluating. “Since Raven got some memories back, I might, as well… We will wait and see. In the event that I am threatened, can you get me out?”

“Yes, sir. Now that they’ve searched the house I can retrieve some extra weapons and things I stashed outside,” he nodded toward the door, “when we’re on shift.”

“ARE we likely to have a threat?”

“Honestly, sir, I have no idea. The men who delivered you all here certainly had no orders to come back that I know of; I have no idea where the cameras go, or who was watching; and I have no idea what you–or whoever–arranged.”

“So… I could have arranged for an attack, or… hmmm…” He closed his eyes and thought. “Knight? This is all set up for show… There may be a mock attack, something to scare people–it would be a way of forcing people to respond–so don’t draw that gun unless the threat is certain.”

Knight looked impressed. “Yes, sir… That’s very much like you to do that…” he nodded.

Cipher lay back on the bed. “Are you a light sleeper?”

“Yes, very much.”

“Am I?”

“Sometimes? Sometimes you could sleep through anything.”

“Then lie down with me and get some sleep, Knight. This is starting to sound like fun…”


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bits and pieces start coming back, and bargains are struck.

Brother and Grey were woken out of a sound sleep by a pained cry. Grey made it to the door first and tracked the sound to the bedroom that Doc and Raven were sharing; he opened the door cautiously to find Doc holding Raven who looked like he was having a fit of some kind.

Brother shoved past Grey and ran into the room. “What happened?!”

“I don’t know, I woke up and he was gasping and then he collapsed!” Doc answered and then turned back to Raven. “Raven… Raven… It’s all right, you’re safe…”

Cipher’s voice carried up the stairs, “Everyone okay?”

Grey called back down, “Raven had… a nightmare, I think?”

“Okay, we’re checking the perimeter…”

Raven suddenly grabbed Doc and stared at him, “You’re real?”

“Uh… what?”

“You’re real… You’re here… are…” He stared around slowly without letting go of Doc. “We…”

Brother frowned, “You remembered something?”

“Do… Do you know who you are? We… all forgot who we were?” Raven sounded more like he was speaking to himself at the end.

Brother watched Raven very carefully. “We have deduced a great deal, but most of our memories have been… senses of the familiar, and impressions. What did you remember?”

Raven looked down at his hands still holding Doc’s arms and slowly let go. “It… It’s just bits and pieces. J… John…” He looked up at Doc. “Your name is John. You were… missing.”

“John?” Doc said thoughtfully, “That… sounds right… but I’m not missing, I’m right here.”

Brother looked thoughtful. “My name?”

“My…” Raven’s gaze shifted sideways. “My-something.”

“I see…” Brother sighed. “Grey? Doc? Could you go help Cipher and Knight check our security and perhaps… make some tea?”

“John makes the best tea…” Raven said quietly.

Grey and Doc–now John–went out and Brother sat down on the edge of the bed. After several seconds he asked, “What did you remember?”

“Of course I couldn’t hide it from you; I never could.”

Brother just arched an eyebrow at him and waited.

“Mycroft. Your name is Mycroft. A very, very few people call you Myc or My.”

“That… sounds very likely. You had said it was an ‘M’ something earlier.” He looked at Raven, and sighed, “Do I need to ask?”

“No… John… John and I had some kind of falling out. I haven’t remembered the details but bits and pieces are coming back even now… I…” Raven made a gulping noise and dug his hands into the bedcovers. “I’m lost without him.”

“He… seemed very fond of you.”

Raven shook his head, “He isn’t. Not anymore… Not… Not for a long time.”

“Anything else?”

“I know Cipher, I think… I believed he was dead? I have an image of him dead…”

Brother–Mycroft–pulled his lower lip under his teeth, a habit that Raven remembered from his childhood and not since. “Did I… Well, obviously I didn’t kill him. Did I hurt him? He seemed certain of that.”

“You…” Raven frowned. “You had him interrogated. I don’t know what that means exactly, but… I know that you did?” He looked down and after a pause he said, “He threatened John.”

“Cipher?”

“Yes… He threatened John,” Raven looked up and added slowly, “and Greg, and Mrs. Hudson.”

“There is no Mrs. Hudson here but… Greg? Grey?”

“Yes. His name is Greg… I think? It’s not as clear.”

“Do we need to move against him? If he’s a danger then likely they both are; however, we are four against two.”

“I… I don’t know. I know I… I liked him? No… that’s not right… It was… It was alright until he threatened John,” he paused, “and the others were later.”

“It was suggested that the two of them were competing over you,” Brother said thoughtfully.

“Then somehow I lost both of them.” Raven wrapped his arms around his legs and shuddered.

“Neither of them looks lost to me–or no more so than any of us are, given our memories.”

“Then when we remember I will lose them both again.”

“First of all, you cannot know that. Secondly, there is sadly no guarantee that we will regain all, or any, of our memories.”

“I’ve been remembering bits and pieces, and we all have senses of things that are familiar… I suspect it’s just a matter of time…”

*

Brother brought Raven downstairs once the tea was ready. Doc fussed at him and sat him down and got him a cup… and Raven kept watching him desperately.

“I’m here, I’m not missing,” Doc said firmly.

“Missing?” Knight asked and looked around in confusion.

“Raven said I was missing–I guess that’s from before–and that my name is John.”

“IS it?” Cipher said slowly. “That… sounds right.” He looked at Raven curiously, “I don’t remember anything… What have you remembered?”

“I have an image in my mind of you lying in a puddle of blood, and… I suppose I thought you were dead?” Raven shuddered. “And one image of you…. in Victorian clothes and a… you were dead.”

“Well, I’m obviously not,” Cipher drawled. “Unless this is hell or something, which…” He frowned. “Nah, I get the impression Grey wouldn’t end up in Hell–the rest of us would.”

“What?” Grey looked up startled.

Raven frowned, “His name is Greg, I think… and why would we end up in Hell, if it even existed?”

“I dunno… I don’t think it does, actually…” Cipher trailed off. “But I suspect a lot of people told me to go there. Anyway, Grey… Greg? He’s the odd one out, I think.”

“Greg… that sounds right. Is that why Grey sounded right?” Grey asked curiously. “And why am I the odd one out?”

“You just are,” Cipher shrugged.

“John doesn’t belong with us; he’s a conductor of light…” Raven said quietly.

Doc reached out and took his hand, “Hey… Wherever you go, I go.” Raven clutched his hand like a lifeline.

Cipher looked sad but unsurprised. Brother frowned at him and nodded to the kitchen. “Cipher? I prepared bread; perhaps we can get breakfast going while the bread bakes?”

“You made bread?” Cipher perked up. “Fresh bread for breakfast? Well, it isn’t hell, then. Knight?”

“Sir?”

“Keep an eye on security.” Cipher walked into the kitchen and Brother followed, looking back once warily at Knight.

“Of course,” Knight nodded and turned to Grey. “So… Greg? Let’s walk the perimeter.” He looked pointedly at Doc and Raven huddled together over tea, Raven not letting go of Doc’s hand.

“Right…” Grey glanced back once and went out with Knight.

*

Cipher waited until there were pots and pans being moved before he spoke, “So… he’s remembered a lot more than he’s saying.”

“I believe that’s obvious.”

“To us, maybe,” Cipher shrugged. “I told Knight to keep–”

“I heard you.”

“Touchy all at once, aren’t you? Whatever did Raven say?”

“Nothing useful.”

Cipher shrugged, “Well, the REASON I asked Knight to keep an eye out is I expect an attack.”

“You were rather the most paranoid of us all.”

Cipher bared his teeth in something someone might have called a smile, “Are any of you safe to me? I may not remember, but I know you hurt me.”

“Raven thinks so too, but I don’t… I don’t remember.”

“It’s not paranoia if you’re right.”

“I disagree, but your point?”

“Obviously, someone set this up; obviously, someone wanted to watch the targets reactions… so the next step would be?”

Brother turned and looked at him thoughtfully, “Provoking one. Indeed, we should expect an attack or… some kind of incident.”

Cipher nodded. “Precisely. I talked it over with Knight, and he should be filling in Grey.”

“It is… a pity that we are not on the same side.”

“For now we are.” Cipher looked at him thoughtfully, “Maybe when–if–we get our memories back we won’t be. I suggest you keep it in mind that for right now? It’s the six of us in this together.”

“Against whom? That’s the question.”

“Yes, it’s a question, but…” Cipher looked at him and shrugged, “If we rip each other apart…”

“Yes,” Brother sighed. “We may end up doing their work for them.”

Brother frowned at the chopping board, “There are enough canned goods to last a while, and enough to live on–if not well–for longer, but I must concur: if the fresh ingredients are any indication this was intended for far fewer people.”

“Lots of apples, though.” Cipher sighed, “I get the impression a lot of this is ‘in-jokes’ that none of us remember.”

“Very likely.”

*

Greg nodded, “Makes sense. Whoever it is would want to shake us up at least–might end up with a recording playing spooky noises or might end up with an actual attack.”

Knight sighed, “It’s the not knowing that gets me. I could defend better if I knew what I was defending against.”

“That’s the point, though: we don’t remember enough to figure it out.” Greg sighed. “Well, at least Raven remembered a few names. Funny my name being so close to what I was called.”

“You don’t remember, though?”

“No. I just think Greg sounds right.”

“Can… Look, as long as we’re out of earshot of the rest of them…”

“Yeah?” Greg stopped and looked curiously at him.

“You heard everything. I think there’s some real bad blood between some of them…”

“Got that impression, yeah.”

“If it comes to it, I’ll protect Cipher, but… you fit with that lot. Try to keep it from getting violent?”

“I get the impression you expect something…”

“Yeah, I expect Brother at least to go after him, and maybe Doc? If they do, I’d have to defend him… and then if they get threatened… Well, you saw Raven.”

Greg nodded, “If I can keep them from hurting Cipher, you won’t have to hurt them, and it doesn’t turn into a real mess.”

“Exactly. As far as I’m concerned, my job is to keep Cipher safe. If I don’t need to hurt anyone else to do it? Then… I don’t.”

Greg held out his hand, “Agreed. And yeah, if everyone gets their memories back in pieces like Raven seems to be, people might go off half-cocked.”

Knight shook his hand. “I’d dearly like to get out of this in one piece, and… if nothing else, I don’t have a grudge against YOU.”

Greg looked at him curiously, “No matter what Cipher said about me and Hell, you really seem to be the odd one out here. No one even thinks you’re familiar except Cipher.”

“I know.” Knight sighed, “Well, let’s go back in.”

*

It was an uncomfortable meal. The bread was excellent–and everyone complimented Greg and Brother over it, although Greg deferred entirely to Brother on that score–and the rest of the food was good, but no one quite knew what to say.

Eventually Knight suggested a card game–since they’d found cards in a drawer–and they spent quite a bit of time trying to remember enough of a game and its rules to play. Knight seemed to remember ‘Poker’ very well, although Doc–John–remembered different rules for it. Raven insisted they use Doc’s rules and no one else objected.

It was rapidly discovered that Raven, Brother, and Cipher were terrifyingly good at cards. Of the ‘ordinary’ fellows, only Knight kept up, and then only for a while before he threw in his hand as well and joined Greg and John off to the side.

“So just us ordinary intellects, then,” sighed John.

“Yeah, want to play a game of Cluedo?” Greg asked waving at the box.

“Sure.” Knight shrugged, “If I’ve played, it’s been a long time.”

“I used to play,” John said, “but Sherlock is impossible…” he trailed off and they all looked at each other.

“Sherlock?” Greg asked quietly.

“I don’t know… It… It’s just what came out of my mouth instead of Raven…” Doc said slowly.

Knight nodded. “You two are close: anyone can tell that. He remembered your name first and you remembered his.”

“He was my whole world…” John said quietly, “and then something went wrong, but I don’t remember what.”

Greg shrugged. “Well, you obviously both care for each other still, right? Whatever happened, you have each other now.”


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was wrong... not about this, though...

Greg, John, and Knight ended up watching in fascination as the ‘Poker Game’ devolved into a competition of cheating. Apparently Raven, Cipher and Brother all had phenomenal memories and could predict cards to be dealt with ease, but then Raven boasted that he could cheat a deal without being caught…

He did something that the observers never saw, and Brother and Cipher both snorted at him and told him how he did it.

Then Cipher demonstrated how to deal from the middle of the deck–by sorcery, as far as Knight was concerned; Greg agreed–and Brother proceeded to deal them all precision hands without breaking his straight face or showing how he did it.

Raven dropped out after a while and was sulking–while sneaking worried looks at John the entire time–while Cipher and Brother proceeded with a one-upmanship game of “Can you tell how I did THIS?”

Greg muttered, “Never playing cards with any of them.”

John nodded, “Not ever! God, I thought Cluedo was bad!”

Knight sighed, “Well, now I know why none of us have any money in our pockets: we must have played them at some point!”

Greg laughed, “There is that.”

It was at that point that some faint sounds were heard from outside the house. Knight reacted first, tilting his head and counting silently. The sounds repeated, closer: ten rapid popping noises.

Doc–John–stiffened. “Gun,” he said quietly. Greg started moving away from the windows.

Knight shook his head, “The sounds… are odd.”

Brother simply put his cards down. “We should move away from the windows, however–”

There was a much louder noise, like a small explosion, and every one of them hit the ground without thinking.

John and Knight both crawled, low and fast, over to Raven and Cipher, respectively. Raven started to stand up–

“Get down, you git!” John hissed.

“But I want to see what–”

“God DAMN it, Sherlock, are you trying to get yourself killed… again…”John trailed off into a horrified whisper. “You’re dead… You… You died…” He started shaking violently, eyes open, staring at something only he could see.

“John? John!” Raven–Sherlock–tried to gather John up in his arms.

“Stay DOWN!” Greg said firmly, his voice carrying with authority. “The line of fire in here is on our side if we stay down!”

“Not if they have a grenade…” Knight said slowly.

“They’d have to get to the windows,” Brother said as he surprisingly expertly low crawled over to Sherlock. “Raven, stay flat down and keep John down: it’s all we can do right now.”

Several odd sounding shots rang out, and the sound of something impacted on the walls.

Cipher snapped out, “Knight? Brother? You two can crawl low–go into the kitchen and get something we can THROW, like canned goods. Greg? Watch the windows.”

“Excellent idea,” Brother nodded. He looked over at Knight, “Once we are clear of the windows, we should be able to simply run…”

Knight nodded and glanced at the windows and furniture. “You stay flat, hang on.” He crawled in the opposite direction and started shoving a sofa.

“Fuck me, I should have seen it!” Cipher cursed abruptly.

“There,” Knight said after a moment. “Stay close to the ground, Brother, but you should be able to move into the kitchen now.”

Brother nodded at the line of sight–now partially blocked by the sofa–and got to his feet and hands, moving at speed in a crouching run. He was back in a very short while dragging a basket–previously full of apples–full of cans. He started rolling them across the floor to people.

Cipher grumbled, “We should have pulled the curtains and blocked as many lines of sight as possible before this. My mind must have gone to mush with my memories.”

“Likewise,” Brother sighed.

They watched the windows and listened to sounds of something exploding, and something like shots, and the sounds of impacts on the house. From another room, there was the sound of glass breaking.

“Window,” murmured Brother.

“Only a concern if we smell smoke,” Cipher said thoughtfully.

“Sherlock?” John spoke weakly. “You… You died… I remember, you died… and then… I was so angry, and I… I hurt you… Why?” He wrapped his arms around Raven. “You DIED…!”

Raven lay quietly next to him, still holding him tightly. “I remember being on a roof, knowing that if I didn’t jump… you would die…. You would all die… and Cipher was there, lying dead in a pool of blood…”

“Jesus!” Greg said with wide eyes, “I… I hate to ask this, but given how many of you remember other people here being dead, are we all SURE we aren’t in Hell?”

“I…” Raven looked down at John. “He wouldn’t be here if it was Hell.”

Cipher mused slowly, “Second chances.”

“What?” Knight looked over from behind the sofa.

“We’ve been given second chances.” Cipher was looking over at Brother. “You hurt me… I know you did…” He looked at Raven. “You… You betrayed me… and John? He says you died… You say I died…”

Raven looked back at Cipher. “You… threatened John… and you died, I know you did. I had to die to save John, and Greg, and Mrs. Hudson–”

“That’s familiar!” John said firmly. “Mrs. Hudson…”

Raven continued, “–and somehow… I lost John, he hated me.”

“What?! I could never…” John trailed off slowly. “I was so angry… I remember hitting you? Why? Why was I so angry?”

Raven tracked over to Brother, “We were… close once, a long time ago.” He shook his head, “Not in ages… and… and it was worse recently?”

Greg added softly, “I remember being married, and… Raven telling me she was cheating on me? But I knew already…”

Brother looked at the basket that he’d brought in. “Apples… Apples are Cipher.”

Raven nodded, “Yes, apples are Cipher and tea is John…”

“My whole life is a desk and paperwork…” Brother said in a whisper, staring off at nothing, “trying to keep my brother alive, even though he hates me…”

“I don’t hate you… I think… I think I envied you…”

“We’ve been given a second chance, that’s what this is.” Cipher sat up.

“Sir! Stay down!” Knight stared at him with worry.

“It’s not dangerous… Anyway, the sounds stopped a while back, not long after the window broke, and I don’t smell smoke…” He got up and walked out of the room toward the broken glass like he was sleep walking.

“Sir!” Knight started to low crawl and then said, “Fuck it!” and got up and ran after him.

Greg looked at Brother slowly curling in on himself. “Secrets and paperwork… that’s all my life is…” he was whispering. Greg crawled over.

“Nonsense, you probably have a horde of women pining over you…” Greg tried to pat the man on the back. “Good looking fellow like you? Nice suit? You can even cook!”

Brother shook his head, “I don’t think I…”

Cipher called from the other room, “I think this is blood? Why is someone throwing blood at our windows?”

“What?” Raven looked up, puzzled.

John laughed weakly, “Well, it’s a mystery, isn’t it? So solve it!”

Raven smiled faintly, “It could be dangerous…” He cocked his head, “Want to see some more….? I... said that… once…”

John smiled faintly, “And I said God, yes.” He got up. “Come on.”

Raven and John helped each other up and went out. Greg helped a shaken Brother up and they followed.

Cipher and Knight were staring at a broken window dripping in thick red-brown liquid, Knight apparently keeping Cipher from walking closer.

Raven simply walked up to the window and started poking at it.

“Sherlock!” John groaned. “For God’s sake!”

“Sherlock… right…” Cipher looked questioningly over… “That… sounds familiar.”

“It’s his name,” Brother said quietly coming in.

“I actually think I prefer Raven,” Sherlock said idly. “Incidentally, this is paint.”

“Paint?” Brother asked sharply.

“Paint.”

“So… intended to frighten us.” Brother nodded. “To make us react.” He looked over at Cipher. “You were correct.”

“Actually, I was wrong, but not about that,” Cipher said thoughtfully.

“What? I don’t understand?” Greg frowned and for some reason Raven and John started snickering.

“Let’s get the window taped up–we did find plastic sheets, if I recall–and get back to the main room.” Cipher looked around. “So, Brother?”

“Yes?” Brother looked over and froze suddenly, looking at Cipher as though seeing him for the first time.

“Food. Let them fix the window while the two of us make food… then… I think I’ve figured a few things out…”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A is for Apple

Brother went quietly into the kitchen and started picking up the apples: he’d dumped them rather haphazardly to get the basket.

Cipher came in and put on the apron. “So? You obviously remembered something: you stared at me like you’d seen a ghost.”

“You… don’t remember anything?”

“I know things. Sometimes I almost remember them? If that makes sense. I have flashes and bits that don’t line up to anything at all… I remember someone–they aren’t here–staring down at me and sneering, calling me worthless, I was… I was young I think?” Cipher shrugged. “I remember it hurt, whatever happened… But no, I don’t remember you.” He looked thoughtfully at the apples. “Probably should cook the ones that got bruised: they won’t keep.”

“I… remember you,” Brother said very quietly. He started getting out the flour.

“Oh?”

“You… you were sitting across from me at a metal table, in a grey room–I was in charge, somehow–and you’d been hurt, but you were laughing at me.” Brother got the mixing bowls set up. “And another image of you in a suit–it was a very fine suit–getting off a helicopter. I remember thinking I should shoot you.”

“I knew you had hurt me,” Cipher said calmly. “And I knew you would hurt me again if you had the chance…”

“I don’t think I WANTED to hurt you: I think I felt I had no choice.”

“We always have choices, Mycroft–” Cipher cut off suddenly. “Mycroft? That’s right, isn’t it?”

“I think so…”

“Huh.” Cipher sliced the apples carefully. “We always have choices, Mycroft, and now we have second chances. That’s what all of this is: a second chance.”

“For whom?”

“You, them–even me, apparently.” Cipher frowned. “Maybe me.”

“You said you were wrong, before? That you’d figured things out?”

“I don’t KNOW… I haven’t remembered, it’s just the feel of things…” Cipher looked at Mycroft–he nodded–“I started thinking this was supposed to hurt us–humiliate us, at least. I expected a mock attack to make us react… and I think we all wondered why we were being set up…”

“True.” Mycroft frowned down at the pie crust but decided it would do. “And now?”

“I think that there’s a bit of dark humor in it–a touch of malevolence, perhaps–but it’s meant well.”

“MEANT well?!” Mycroft shouted, all the tension and anxiety coming out at once. “How the hell could anyone do this and mean well?!” He brought his hand down hard on the counter.

Cipher flinched and froze, staring at nothing. A small gasping sound escaped him and he folded into the ground.

~

Sherlock–Raven, he insisted–kept looking at John with wide, desperate eyes.

“For God’s sake, I’m… I’m not going anywhere!” John finally blurted out.

“You did… you… you will… when you remember.”

“OH? And If I left, what are we all doing together now?” John snapped.

Greg spoke up, “That’s a good question, you know.”

Knight looked up slowly. “What?”

“We were all together; we all woke up together; and it’s pretty clear we’re a group that… well, most of us knew each other. Do you think someone went all over the world to find us all? I think it’s pretty likely we were together.”

Raven shook his head, “John… John was gone.”

Knight looked back and forth and finally said, rather hesitantly, “I… I don’t know a lot about this, but you two… you two were close as soon as you woke up: it’s pretty obvious you care about each other, so whatever happened? You still cared.”

They were finishing installing the plastic cover on the window when Mycroft came in quickly. “Knight!”

“Yes?” Then his eyes narrowed, “Where’s Ji– Cipher?”

“Jim. His name is Jim and you know it,” Mycroft snapped. “He collapsed in the kitchen. I’m… I’m concerned that touching him may… If he thought I was hurting him, he might panic.”

“Jim…” Raven muttered.

Knight moved past them at speed and into the kitchen. “Sir? Sir?” He reached down and tried to move him, only to have Cipher make a wheezing, gasping noise.

John pushed past Knight. “Help me get him straightened out, but keep his head elevated a bit. Someone bring in some pillows so I can prop him up?”

Raven matter-of-factly brought in a blanket.

“Good thinking, we need to keep him warm,” John said, nodding.

“If needed, yes… but I was thinking we could bundle him up and Knight and My– Brother could carry him to the sofa.”

They practically tripped over each other getting him into the blanket and then trying to move in unison to carry him. They were part of the way from the kitchen when Cipher started to struggle and cry out, “Nononononononono…” interrupted by panicked gasping.

“Sir? Sir?!”

Cipher was looking back and forth the way he had when he first woke up: in panic and confusion. His eyes finally settled on Raven and it seemed to catch his attention.

“Jim?” Raven stepped forward. “We’re just moving you to the sofa… No one is hurting you…”

“You… I know you…”

“You remembered something?” Sherlock smiled bitterly. “Foolish thing to ask: of course you did.”

“You’re me…” Cipher reached out a hand slowly.

Knight was looking in confusion at this but at least it bought them time to get Cipher to the couch.

“You said that before,” Raven sighed. “I didn’t think so.”

“Yes, you are… you’re me… if… if things had been better… that’s why I hated you so much… that’s why I hated Mycroft so much… I couldn’t see it before….” Then his eyes rolled back in his head and he went unconscious.

“What?” John was staring at Sherlock. “Do you have any idea what he’s talking about?”

“No…” Raven looked at Mycroft. “Brother?”

“I think so: he felt that you represented an easier life, perhaps? One where an older brother was prepared to protect you?” Mycroft sighed, “However poorly I accomplished it, I always tried to protect you, Sherlock.”

“I don’t think your methods of protecting me were very good for me,” Sherlock looked down sadly, “but I do believe that you meant well.”

Mycroft looked shocked at him and then pursed his lips and looked around. “He said it was meant well.”

“What? I don’t understand?” Greg frowned. “Who said? What was meant well?”

“Cipher–Jim–he said of our situation here, ‘There’s a bit of dark humor in it–a touch of malevolence, perhaps–but it’s meant well’.” Mycroft cleared his throat. “I became angry, brought my hand down on the counter and he… collapsed.”

“Flashback?” John muttered. “From you hitting a counter? Raising your voice?”

“Perhaps… but,” he held up a finger and looked at Sherlock, “as you said, you believed I meant well EVEN if what I did was… not perhaps well chosen?”

“Yes.” Sherlock frowned. “You think… that’s what he was saying? That this was… somehow… meant well?”

“Yes.”

John shook his head, “Doesn’t seem very nice to me.”

Raven looked at John and then said quietly, “It’s a second chance… he said that.”

John hesitated, “We… Something very bad happened and we… lost a lot. All of us maybe? We remember dying, and anger…”

Mycroft sighed, “He said it was ‘meant well’ and… I believe him, but something went wrong,” he looked over at Knight, “didn’t it?”

Knight looked up slowly. “Why ask me?”

“Because, unlike the rest of us, you never lost your memory.”


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ... stand off

Knight stood up slowly and moved in between Cipher and the rest of them. “Where do you get that?”

Greg was looking between them in confusion and concern. John moved to shield Sherlock. Brother–Mycroft–simply stood calmly and waited.

Sherlock stared at Knight and started cursing abruptly, “How did I miss it, Brother? Of course you’re right.”

“We WERE all rather at a disadvantage–except Knight here.” Mycroft frowned. “You carried yourself incorrectly, Mister Knight–have since the beginning, but I was too distressed to realize it.”

“I… wait what?” Knight shook his head. “Look, Greg and John and I have already figured out you three are way over our heads… Care to spell it out?”

Greg murmured, “Over our heads like twenty feet.”

John smiled faintly as Sherlock began speaking rapidly, “Everyone else was frightened, you were confused, but calm even from the first time we woke up–for that matter, you were awake before all of us but you lay still waiting to see what we would do.”

Mycroft looked thoughtful. “There is that, as well. Very good, Sherlock.”

Sherlock startled and stopped speaking, looking over at Mycroft.

John nudged his arm, “Go on: I always like hearing you do this.”

Sherlock continued a bit more slowly, his cheeks a bit pinker than before, “You carried yourself as though the house itself wasn’t threatening. The rest of us were worried, expecting danger–you were not, because you knew what we would find, although you hadn’t looked at the books in detail. You only provided answers after hearing how others answered, watching us for cues. You reacted as though you worked for Cipher–Jim–from the beginning and never questioned it–”

“That was the greatest clue,” Mycroft allowed. “John reacted as a Doctor, and then questioned; Greg reacted as a policeman, and then paused and tried to understand; we all did–except you: you reacted as a guard to Cipher, to Jim, and you never once questioned that.”

Knight looked at the four of them and sighed, “I really don’t want to have to hurt anyone–really.”

Greg nodded, “You said that.”

He nodded at Greg, “Figured it might come to this.” He looked back at Mycroft and Sherlock. “For what it’s worth, you’re right.” His hand started to move toward his back and Mycroft pulled out a pistol.

“I believe you may have ‘dropped’ this while we were moving him–I had thought you were armed.”

Knight’s hand finished the motion and his eyes went very still; you could see him analyzing the odds. “Seriously, I don’t want to have to hurt any of you–put the gun down.”

John looked carefully at Knight and drew closer to Sherlock. Mycroft frowned. “You don’t want to have to hurt… Surely, you can’t be thinking to take me on unarmed?”

“As I told Greg: my job is to protect him–I will do whatever I have to.”

Greg was holding both hands up. “Alright, lads. Look, everyone has got their blood up, but we’ve been alright so far, and we should stay alright if people just calm down, yeah?”

“You were confused, though,” Sherlock said thoughtfully, watching Knight–apparently unconcerned about the tension or the standoff occurring in front of him or John’s hissing at him to step back–“So you didn’t really understand what had happened, you simply were not affected…”

A voice from the sofa caused all of them–except Knight–to look over. “Yes, Mycroft, I do believe my Knight might very well try to take you on unarmed against a gun–he’s ridiculously loyal that way–but I’ll shoot Sherlock if you so much as twitch the wrong way.” Cipher–Jim–was still lying on the sofa, but he had a pistol in his hand aimed at Sherlock.

Sherlock froze, staring at Cipher, and John almost stopped breathing.

Mycroft hesitated, “You’ll shoot him anyway.”

“Pretty silly setup to SHOOT him, Mycroft: waste of a lot of effort, really.” Jim smiled pleasantly. “But I will if I must.”

Mycroft carefully put the safety back on and put the gun on the floor. Knight immediately said, “Greg? You pick it up–that one is a bit finicky and kicking it might override the safety.”

Greg slowly picked up the gun, keeping his hands in sight. “Now what? We… did have an agreement.”

Knight nodded, “We did–still do, as far as I know.”

“Agreement?” Jim asked curiously.

“I told him my job was looking after you, and I was concerned that the others might start something; I told him if he wanted to protect THEM then we were both aiming to prevent a fight, not start one.”

“Hmm.” Jim sounded amused more than angry, and Knight relaxed just a hair.

John’s voice was low and dangerous, “You… You did this. You killed Sherlock, before… made him jump…”

“There were extenuating circumstances, Johnny Boy: ask big brother about them when you all wake up.”

“Wake up?” Sherlock looked around the room in confusion.

“Wake up? Remember? I don’t remember it all yet, myself.”

“You did this!” John snarled, hands balled into fists. He took a step forward, heedless of the gun still in Jim’s hand.

Sherlock grabbed him and pulled him back. “Don’t. Don’t get hurt, John… I couldn’t… Please, John…”

“Knight says he thinks I did… the problem is, I don’t exactly recall.” Jim smiled, “But I think the time has come for Knight and I to take our leave–my memories can come back in… more secure circumstances.”

Greg looked down at the gun in his hand, and then back at Knight; he walked up and handed it to him carefully. “I think I trust you with this more than him.”

John started to shout; Sherlock’s hand tightened on his arm. Knight nodded gratefully, and Greg stepped back. Mycroft started to protest and then looked respectful and approving at Greg.

Knight sighed, “Sir? Can you put the gun down, please? You… um… never had the best trigger discipline.”

Jim handed him the gun and untangled himself from the blanket. He stood–a bit unsteadily–and leaned into Knight’s back. “There’s another gun taped to the underside of the sink, Mycroft, but I don’t THINK I set up any real threats.”

Mycroft nodded. “You… think this was meant well: you said that.”

John, calmer now that Knight had both guns, shook his head, “I don’t see how any of this could be meant well.”

“Don’t you?” Jim asked lightly.

“I do,” Sherlock said quietly. “Something ripped us apart, and this… was a second chance.” He looked past Knight and caught Jim’s eyes. “I don’t understand why, but… Thank you?”

Jim nodded at him slowly–and a bit sadly–and then smirked at Mycroft, “When you finally figure it all out, get in touch.”

“It has been… interesting,” Mycroft said diplomatically.

“May you live in interesting times?” Jim laughed, “Yeah, we got that curse in spades, didn’t we Iceman?” He tapped gently at Knight’s elbow. “Time for us to take off, Tiger.”

Knight nodded, “Yes, sir,” and covered Jim’s back as they went out. Knight paused in the doorway as Jim got clear. Just before he closed the door, he glanced at Greg and John. “It… was nice meeting you two, honestly; pity about the circumstances.” He nodded and holstered the gun at his back and let the other one fall to rest position.

John nodded, still tensely standing between him and Sherlock. Greg smiled, “Take care of yourself, Knight. If things work out, maybe we could grab a pint and watch a game.”

Knight smiled, looking much younger suddenly, and said, “Doubt it, but stranger things have happened,” and closed the door.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and then there were four...  
> memories are coming back, but so are problems.

Chapter 11

After the door closed, none of them moved for several seconds.

Mycroft cleared his throat and said, finally, “It was… a good decision to hand Knight the gun, although I confess I wouldn’t have thought of it.”

“God…” John unclenched his hands and it seemed like all his strength went with it: he collapsed to the ground.

Sherlock sank to the ground after him, wrapping his arms around him. “John… John, don’t leave me again… I couldn’t…”

John turned and grabbed him. “I am NEVER letting you go again! Never!”

“Errr…” Greg looked a bit alarmed at the two of them on the floor, holding onto each other hard enough to bruise; he looked over at Mycroft, who was watching them with a sad and wistful expression.

Mycroft turned and walked back into the kitchen; after a moment, Greg followed him.

He found Mycroft crouched down feeling under the sink.

“Is there?”

“Yes.” Mycroft had to get down further but came back up holding a pistol with some tape still clinging to it.

Greg looked around the kitchen. “Apples… were Cipher?”

“He had a strong association with them, much as John has a strong association with tea.” Mycroft put the gun down aside and stared at the pile of cut apple slices. “We were making a pie…” he said quietly.

Greg put a hand on his shoulder. “Well, don’t want to waste it, do we? I… remember a bit, but not enough, and I think we’re stuck here a bit longer.”

Mycroft nodded and pulled himself up straighter. “Indeed. Focus on the present and on immediate matters–quite right, Greg…” He glanced sideways at the man. “You… said you were married?”

“Were…” Greg sighed. “Sherlock told me she was cheating on me, I remember that… but… I knew already, I just… didn’t want to know?”

“Hmm.” Mycroft slowly put the pie together, asking Greg to fetch the spices and so on. He started a main course cooking once the pie was in the oven. Eventually he asked, “But, despite your prior relationship with a woman, you did indicate an interest in… a potential interest in…”

Greg smiled. “Now that I know I wouldn’t be cheating on anyone? Ummm… yeah, maybe. I’m not the fast sort, I don’t think… but…” He looked back down at the saucepan he was stirring. “Might be nice to get to know you… if you think you can put up with an ordinary fellow like me.”

“Greg, you apparently tolerated my brother at close range for years–you are certainly not ordinary.”

~

John and Sherlock just held onto each other, as though someone–or something–was trying to drag them apart, for a long while.

“John?” Sherlock said after they’d been silently holding each other, foreheads pressed together, for some time.

“Yes?”

“Could we possibly get up off the floor? It’s not very forgiving on my knees.”

“I actually have no idea if I can get up.”

“Ah… yes… well.” Sherlock unfolded himself and helped pull John to his feet. They staggered over to the sofa.

“You are never leaving me again, and you are never lying to me again,” John said firmly. “I… I hurt you because I was angry, and I don’t understand that… but… I don’t want to hurt you.” He looked down at their hands clasped together. “I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I hurt you–I never meant to, I was… I was trying to keep you safe,” said Sherlock.

“I’m… afraid I will hurt you–I don’t want to, but I’m terrified that I will–and I’m afraid you will leave… again.”

“I only left you because I thought… I thought it was best.”

“Well, it wasn’t: it was horrible.” John forced his hand to stay open and not crush Sherlock’s. “I would rather you killed me before you hurt me like that again…” John looked up grimly, “and I want you to promise me you will kill me before you let me hurt you like that again.”

“I couldn’t…” Sherlock stared at him in shock. “I couldn’t… you… you’re my… you’re my heart.”

“Then find a way to keep me from hurting you. I don’t understand–I have these images in my head of hitting you, of you… I can’t stand it!”

Mycroft, who had been standing quietly in the doorway, said, “I suggest we wait until the rest of our memories fill in before we make assumptions. We have images, pieces… they may make more sense once we remember the context.”

“Don’t let me hurt him again, Mycroft.” John looked up at him. “I remember you enough to know you can be a cold bastard if you want to be. Before he leaves me again, and before I hurt him again, you fucking shoot me–clear?”

Sherlock looked up in terror at Mycroft. “No… I would die…”

Greg raised his voice, “You are ALL idiots, every last one of you.” He looked around. “Mycroft is a cold, unfeeling bastard because everyone dumps their problems on him and expects him to just handle it–it’s not fair to him, and you will stop.

“Sherlock? You’re an ass: you’re a self-absorbed genius who means well, but you assume that, since you’re smarter than we are, you know better than we do how we’ll feel, and you don’t. Try talking for a change.

“John? You’ve been getting angrier over the years, yeah… I remember that. You were always a scrappy sort, but it’s gotten worse lately and I think maybe you need to see someone.”

He glared at all three of them. “Now, Mycroft made dinner, and we need to eat, and rest, and let our memories come back. You two can set the table.”

It was a very silent dinner.

When they were having tea–and the apple pie, which had come out very well–Mycroft finally said, “Your command voice is excellent, really.”

Greg smiled and looked down at the pie. “Dealing with some of what I deal with I’ve needed it–although talking quietly works sometimes too. Pie came out well.”

“The pie is excellent,” Sherlock muttered.

“Apples,” John sighed. “Jim… Jim always had apples, didn’t he?”

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded. “Apples, chewing gum, a few other things…”

“He helped make the pie, before… before I brought my hand down and he collapsed.”

Sherlock nodded, “A memory trigger; he must have had the kind of cascade I did that night when I woke up from the nightmare.”

Greg looked around. “So… he got caught by accident? He set this up?”

“I believe he set this up,” Mycroft nodded, “and perhaps was exposed to the drug by accident.” He looked thoughtful. “Or perhaps we fought back? And he was exposed…”

Sherlock sat back and looked off at the books. “This was a second chance for John and me.”

“What?”

“It was set up for two–I believe you two were either an accident or a bonus. The apples were an in-joke that we wouldn’t get because we didn’t remember–until we remembered: they were meant to be a signature, telling me who had done it.”

Mycroft winced. “Of course… but without seeing him, you wouldn’t be able to prove he was alive…”

“It was… I think… an apology of sorts,” Sherlock said quietly, he looked at John through lowered lashes. “He meant to give us a chance to put the past behind us”

“By robbing us of our past memories?” John raised an eyebrow and then shook his head. “That sounds crazy enough to be him.”

Greg frowned. “But the cameras everywhere? And the sex books?”

Sherlock flushed. “I believe he thought that we would…”

John put his head down on the table. “The frilly apron and all the sex stuff: it was a dig at my constantly saying ‘I’m not gay’ and everyone assuming we were together.”

“As I said, you all seem to assume a relationship involves sex… I suppose he did too?” Sherlock sighed, “It never seemed that interesting before.”

“Before?” Mycroft arched an eyebrow.

Sherlock shrugged, “Is it?”

Mycroft flushed faintly. “It… can be… more so with the right person: someone you care about.” He muttered into his tea, “Although it’s not bad otherwise.”

Greg stared at him. “You’ve never?”

Sherlock looked up, eyes cool and hard. “That I remember? It’s never felt good, no, but my enjoyment wasn’t the important part to them.”

Mycroft’s hand trembled on the cup and he put it down. “Sherlock?”

“I believe it’s late enough to go to bed.” Sherlock stood up. “If you’ll excuse me?”

John got up and went after him.

~

“If you want to talk about it…” John said awkwardly.

“I don’t recall enough to talk about it, even if I wanted to,” Sherlock said firmly, “and as soon as I can I’ll delete it again.”

“I’ll… are you okay with sharing a bed again tonight?”

“Of course, John,” Sherlock snorted, “what a ridiculous question: you’d never hurt me.”

John winced. “I’ll… certainly try not to.”

~

Greg stared after them. “Well… that was… unexpected.”

“I keep failing him,” Mycroft sighed. “I hurt Cipher–Jim–partly to try to protect Sherlock, I think…” He tilted his head back and closed his eyes. “And I keep failing.”

Greg came over and put his hands on Mycroft’s shoulders. “No one can protect someone else all the time, Mycroft. It’s hard, but… you can’t.”

“I should be able to.”

“Why? Because you’re a genius Holmes?” Greg hesitated and then continued, “You’re still human.”

“I’m tired, is what I am,” Mycroft sighed. “My whole life is offices and responsibility: I can feel the weight of it even now.” He sighed, “I suppose I should thank Jim–it was a brief respite, but…” he carefully put a hand up to Greg’s, “a needed one, I think.”

“It sounds like you’ve needed a break for a long time, Mycroft. Come on, let’s get this cleaned up and go to bed.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While you were gone...

Jim didn’t say anything as they retrieved the last of the weapons stash outside, although he chuckled when they passed the paintball launcher. They walked through the woods until they got to the back of another house and a garage, and Knight took out a key and got out the car.

“Where should we go, Sir?”

“I don’t remember,” Jim mused. “Someplace safe: take care not to be followed.”

“Yes, Sir.” They drove for a long time, doubling back and changing cars once. Jim dozed and memories came flickering back.

It was early morning but not yet light when they got to a place that didn’t look familiar at all.

“Do I know this place?”

“I… doubt it, Sir. It belongs to a friend of mine–he’s not involved, and I would like to keep it that way. He’s out of the country right now, though, and I have a key.”

Jim nodded. “What was I supposed to meet you for?”

“Something called the Sherringford project? It was already underway, you said, but you wanted to supervise.”

“Oh…” Jim smiled then, slowly, in a way he hadn’t smiled since he woke up in the house. “Oh… Oh, yes… It will be over by now–I should check, though.”

“Can… Can you check after you get some sleep? I’m exhausted and you were falling asleep in the car.”

“It will wait, Knight, and you’re right, I’m tired as well.” Jim looked around thoughtfully.

“We… don’t have to share a bedroom, Sir,” Knight said uncomfortably.

“Do you not want to?”

“I think you know what I want, but I also want to not… take advantage?” Then he muttered, “Or get knifed.”

Jim smirked, “What’s your name, Knight?”

“Sebastian.”

“Sebastian,” Jim rolled the name around, almost caressing the syllables in a way that did nothing to help Sebastian’s nerves.

“Yes, Sir?” He dragged a hand through his hair.

“Nothing, I just figured I should be on a first-name basis with the man sharing my bed.” Jim stood up and stretched. “Just sleeping for tonight, though–I’m tired.”

“Yes, Sir.” Sebastian’s eyes were so wide–Jim giggled.

“In private? It’s Jim. Get to bed.”

~

Mycroft looked at the equally dark circles under everyone else’s eyes as they came down for breakfast.

“It hardly takes genius to know that none of us slept well.”

John took the mug of tea with gratitude. “When I was awake I kept waiting for him to pop back up laughing, ’I’m soooo changeable’, and when I was asleep I kept…”

“Remembering things,” Mycroft nodded. “The drug–and it must have been a drug–seems to be wearing off more as time goes by.”

Sherlock put glasses down on the table and a pitcher of water. “Drink a lot: it can’t hurt, and it might help flush it out.”

John nodded slowly, “Or at least help protect the kidneys, right. Should have been pushing fluids the whole time.”

Greg drank his tea quietly. “I don’t think I ever dealt with him much before… and none of us knew Knight, right?”

Mycroft shook his head. “Obviously a guard we never met–a sniper: Moriarty was very fond of snipers.”

Sherlock sighed, “He didn’t work for him when… when we dealt with him.”

“Oh?” John looked over and smiled. “Explain it?”

Sherlock had a flicker of a smile as he looked at John. “It’s not as easy to explain, but… he didn’t look at any of us like he knew us; if he had been watching us while Jim was ‘alive’, he would have been more familiar. We were… people he had heard of, seen pictures, been briefed?”

Mycroft nodded, “Likely extensively briefed, but nothing personal; he was predisposed to have certain impressions…” Mycroft sighed, “Cipher… Jim seemed to get along with me better than he did, oddly enough.”

John snorted, “Obviously.”

Both Sherlock and Mycroft raised an eyebrow in identical gestures. “Obviously?” Mycroft asked.

“Knight was in love with the man, or at least…” he shrugged, “fascinated with him?”

“That was obvious, John,” Sherlock nodded.

“Sherlock would forgive someone for hurting him long before I would forgive them for hurting him–I figure it’s the same.”

Sherlock kept fidgeting in a pleased fashion. Mycroft smiled faintly, “You are likely correct.”

All four of them nearly knocked over their chairs when the doorbell rang.

“What?” Greg was looking around, startled.

“Was that…?” John stared at the front door.

“Doorbell.” Mycroft put the pistol down in front of John and walked to the front door. John took the pistol, checked it, sighted down it quickly, and stood with it at rest, watching.

“Have I mentioned how incredible that looks when you do that?” Sherlock muttered, “Almost as good as shooting a cabbie.”

Greg groaned. “I didn’t hear that, you know.”

“Of course not.”

Mycroft was standing in the door speaking quietly, but there was no obvious tension in his back. He turned and came back in carrying a box.

“You have a package, Sherlock.”

“I do?”

“It’s addressed to you.”

Sherlock stared at the box. “More importantly, it has our ADDRESS! This is where we are!”

They all stared at the box for a long time.

Greg finally cleared his throat. “So… we are going to open it, right?”

“I suppose we should,” Mycroft murmured, “although I admit to some concern about the contents.” He went into the kitchen and came back with a knife. “Step back please: if it’s trapped in some fashion…”

No one moved.

Mycroft sighed and cut the tape and paper carefully, unwrapped it, and opened the box: inside was a new-looking cell phone and charger, a set of dog tags, a wallet with a badge, two wallets without badges, a pistol, a small bag, and several watches–all carefully packed in with crumpled paper.

“My badge!” Greg reached in and pulled out the wallet. “Greg Lestrade… It’s my ID…?”

“My dog tags,” John patted at his chest. “I knew something was missing!” He pulled out his pistol and wallet. “These are mine…” He pulled out the watches. “Mine… Sherlock’s… This must be Greg’s, and this one has to be Mycroft’s…”

“No wallet for you?” Mycroft looked thoughtfully at Sherlock.

“I think we were at home–my home–so I didn’t have it on me…”

Greg fished out the bag, opened it, and emptied it out on the table–rings and cufflinks fell out.

John reached out slowly and picked up a ring. “Mine,” he said softly. “I blamed Sherlock for her death… but that… that was foolish.”

“You were hurting, John,” Sherlock said quietly, hesitantly touching his shoulder.

“No… or yes, I was… but… there’s something else.” He slid the ring onto the chain with his dog tags and put that on. “My daughter… I have a daughter…” He bit his lip. “That maniac wouldn’t have hurt her, would he?”

“If this was intended as an apology, or a second chance, I do not think so, Doctor,” Mycroft said solemnly. “However, we have been gifted a phone, and our address: we can go home.”

Greg laughed, “Once we charge it, anyway.”

“Ah.”

Sherlock stood up. “Well, we will be leaving, and right now we don’t know who actually owns this place, do we? We should at least clean up… and we can have a bit more breakfast, I think.”

“We are RATHER far out of the way,” Mycroft said with a sigh. “It will take some time to come get us, even once we call.”

They plugged in the phone and had a better breakfast, then cleaned up the kitchen, bedrooms, and bath.

“Are the books intended to go with us, I wonder?” Sherlock said quietly as Mycroft called his office.

“I can’t imagine why not… assuming you wanted them?” said John.

“I’m torn between curiosity at analyzing Jim by looking at what he thought we should be reading… and curiosity over the contents,” Sherlock admitted.

“Well, talk it over with your brother and split them up?”

Sherlock glanced at Mycroft and tensed. “Something’s wrong?”

Mycroft hung up, “Gentlemen? We have one hour–my office is sending a helicopter.” He sounded unsettled and tense.

“A helicopter?” Greg frowned. “Just how important are you?”

“Are we at war or something?” John asked worriedly, flexing his hand into a fist repeatedly.

Sherlock stared at his brother. “A terror attack, while we were all missing?”

“In a way…” Mycroft put his hands on the table for support. “Within hours of our disappearance, there was a targeted air strike on a secure government facility: Sherringford prison has been wiped off the map.”


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> while you were gone... and Mrs. Hudson

They were flown directly to one of the secured buildings. No sooner had they touched down than a woman was racing to Mycroft’s side and handing him communication equipment.

“Anthea, I believe you know everyone here except Greg. Everyone, my personal assistant, Anthea.” Mycroft raised his voice to be heard over the helicopter as they were escorted inside.

All four of them were quickly and efficiently searched and checked for tracers and bugs, and then their weapons were confiscated and tagged and put in a lock up.

“Apologies,” Anthea said as she removed the weapons, “but it’s policy until we get a debrief as to what happened: Mycroft being missing and, just as we noticed that, Sherringford being hit…” She shrugged.

John spoke up, “My daughter, she was at Baker Street, I think–“

“Mrs. Hudson and the baby are both here–for safety,” Anthea said as she directed them into a conference room.

“Oh, thank God,” murmured John.

Sherlock closed his eyes and some of the tension left his shoulders. “I admit I was concerned about Mrs. Hudson as well.”

Greg looked around. “Am I the ONLY one who has no idea what you’re all talking about?”

“I’m afraid so,” Mycroft nodded. “Most of it was need-to-know or secured information, and–”

“I didn’t need to know,” Greg answered in a resigned tone. “I trust someone is going to fill me in?”

“We’ll try.” John carefully put an arm around Sherlock. “It’s a bit surreal in spots–and I lived through it.”

The door opened and Mrs. Hudson came in carrying Rosie; she was followed by a rather terrifyingly efficient-looking nanny who was carrying all the bags and accoutrements that could possibly be required.

“Oh, thank heavens.” Mrs. Hudson stopped and looked at all of them. “Are you all alright? And what happened to him?”

Sherlock helped her get settled, John spent time hugging and rocking Rosie, and everyone permitted the nanny to set up the baby supplies with the practiced efficiency of the SAS setting up a base camp.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow at Mycroft. “You have nannies?”

“Apparently.” Mycroft was watching the proceedings with an expression that couldn’t quite settle between distaste and admiration.

After Rosie was settled the nanny was asked to wait outside, and several highly cleared people came in with Anthea. Mycroft nodded, “This is locked to the highest security clearances until decided otherwise.”

Murmurs of assent and nods around confirmed that it was understood. “Anthea? Please tell me what happened from the outside?”

“I believe we should start with Mrs. Hudson.” Anthea nodded.

Everyone looked at her, and Sherlock squeezed her hand. “It’s alright.”

“I was babysitting Rosie,” she looked around and several people nodded encouragingly, “because the sitter had cancelled. I was supposed to be out of town, and apparently he knew it.”

“He?” John frowned.

Mycroft held up a hand. “Try to just tell us in order, if you can.”

She took a deep breath and nodded, “Sherlock had John over, and Mycroft, and then Greg showed up… It was arranged in advance–I know because they needed a babysitter; Sherlock said something about trying to settle matters–but they hadn’t expected Greg to stop by? At least Sherlock hadn’t told me.”

Sherlock shook his head, “I… think it was unexpected, but my memory is still a bit foggy–please go on.”

“I was downstairs, after I had given you the various baked goods, and I heard… thumps.” She sighed. “It has been a while, but I recognized the sound of a body falling. I heard at least three thumps, and I went upstairs. All four of you were unconscious. I’d been trying to make sure you were laid out comfortably so you could breathe, when I heard someone coming up the stairs… so I hid behind things…”

She took a deep breath. “It was him: Jim Moriarty, the man from the crown jewels? The one who came over for tea that one time; the man whose face was everywhere…”

Anthea spoke up, “She is very firm that it looked like him, Sir, despite my assurances that he was dead; I expect it was a lookalike.”

Mycroft snorted and Sherlock shook his head, “No.”

Sherlock said drily, “It was Jim Moriarty.”

“Without question,” Mycroft nodded.

“Definitely,” John agreed.

Anthea’s eyebrows attempted to climb to her hairline.

Greg cleared his throat. “Do go on, Ma’am.”

“He… he said he was going to have fun with you when you woke up. I was mostly relieved you were GOING to wake up.”

“So I took the safety off the gun and ordered him to drink the tea. He only argued briefly and then he drank it… He then told me he hadn’t thought I was going to be home, and that armed men were arriving to take you all someplace… so when he slumped over I ran downstairs and got Rosie, and hid downstairs…”

She looked at Mycroft. “Then it took me a bit to find that phone number you left for emergencies and I called and… then all SORTS of people showed up–it was rather alarming.”

Sherlock smiled, “Gone over this a few times, have you?”

“Yes, dear, quite a few… but they never believed it was HIM, you know?”

Anthea cleared her throat. “It was? But we had a body–we ran tests!”

Mycroft sighed, “We woke up in the house we were retrieved from, with complete amnesia.”

“What?!” Several voices at once.

“None of us could remember anything–not our own names, not each other–it was utterly horrifying.” Mycroft rubbed his eyes and sipped at a cup of tea.

“Terrifying,” John agreed. “We were all trying to hold it together, but… I could only hold it together because… well, I knew they were familiar. I KNEW Sherlock, and to a lesser extent Mycroft and Greg–I just didn’t know HOW I knew them.”

Greg nodded, “We all had things that felt familiar, and I acted like a cop, John acted like a doctor, Mycroft acted in charge and organizing things, and Sherlock wanted to investigate and was deducing stuff. It was the other two that didn’t make sense.”

“The… other two?” Anthea’s eyes narrowed. “There was no one else on scene.”

“They had left already.” Mycroft sighed, “Jim Moriarty–we called him Cipher because he didn’t know his name either–and Knight.”

Sherlock shrugged. “As a point: Cipher, when he woke up, had very strong opinions of all four of us–he called me a privateer.” Sherlock smiled faintly. “We eventually chose names for ourselves so we at least knew who we were calling to. I was Raven, Mycroft was Brother, John was Doc, Greg was Grey, and Jim Moriarty was Cipher.” Sherlock nodded to Mrs. Hudson. “It turned out his bodyguard had stumbled over things after you had made Jim drink the tea–after he was unconscious with us, in any event–and inserted himself into our group to try to guard him. Cipher recognized him as ‘Knight’–a protector of some sort.”

Mycroft nodded, “From the reactions, I would say Knight didn’t know the effect would be amnesia–or what the effect would be–he was simply trying to guard Moriarty.”

“What did he do to you?” Anthea looked worriedly at them all. “Do you need medical?”

“Blood tests would be a good idea, from the drug,” John nodded, “and probably the usual run of tests for exposure to an unknown chemical agent; but Cipher was… he was just as much in the dark as we were.” John looked at Sherlock. “It was a shock when I recognized him, but… I don’t think he was faking it: I think he had amnesia, too.”

“He called it a second chance.” Sherlock sighed. “In any event, when our memories begin coming back in earnest, he and Knight left. They left peaceably, as far as it goes.”

Greg cleared his throat. “Knight and I had spoken when we were on guard duty. He didn’t want to have to hurt anyone, but he was afraid things would get hot when memories came back; of course, now I know why: he just wanted to get Cipher out safely.”

“We’ll start looking for them; they can’t have gotten far.” Anthea began to give orders and Mycroft sat up straighter.

“No.”

“Sir?”

“That situation is… delicate. No one is to take any action without my direct and express orders.” He leveled a firm stare at her and she slowly nodded. “Now what happened with Sherringford?”

“Approximately two hours after Mrs. Hudson called in the alarm–while we were on all points for you, Sir–the scheduled military test began.” Anthea looked around at the civilians and elaborated, “There was a live-fire military training set up weeks in advance for this. Someone changed the targeting from the fake terrorist headquarters that had been established to Sherringford prison.”

“Jesus…” Greg’s eyes went wide. “I don’t know that prison, is it–”

Mycroft put a hand on Greg’s hand across the table, briefly, “Top secret, Greg–you should never have heard of it.” He nodded at Anthea, “I suggest that Mrs. Hudson and DI Lestrade can step outside.”

Rosie’s supplies were packed down–again with military efficiency by the intimidating nanny–and they were escorted out.

“Survivors?” John asked crisply.

“None,” Anthea answered quietly. “A full barrage from the battleship at range and two aircraft strikes before anyone realized there was a problem. Sherringford was never meant to take shelling. We are still digging through the rubble to identify the bodies–what we can identify.”

Sherlock put his head down slowly. Mycroft put his hand on his brother’s shoulder and found himself murmuring prayers he thought he’d forgotten from childhood.

After a short time, Mycroft pulled himself together. “We have to assume that Euros has escaped until her body is conclusively identified–proceed with that in mind.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“We will all need physicals and blood tests.”

John looked over. “Did you get samples of the tea?”

“Whoever took you did a good job of cleaning up–we haven’t found anything useful–but now we can start searching the house you were–”

Mycroft looked meaningfully at Sherlock and they both nodded. “Anthea? ANYTHING you find in that house is locked to my security overrides only–and the report goes directly to me. Only use your most discreet people.”

Anthea looked worriedly at all of them but nodded, “Of course, Sir.”

It took two days before they were released from medical observation, with orders to have follow-ups weekly or if they had any unusual symptoms. None of them felt they had enough privacy to discuss anything of personal importance until they got out of there.

Several bodies were identified in the ruins of Sherringford, several more remained to be identified, and they had yet to dig through even a quarter of the rubble.

The contents of the house were inventoried, cataloged, and examined. The bugs were determined to go to a repeater located in the attic, and from there impossible to trace…

…and it was discovered that the house had passed through several holding companies, and was now owned by one Sherlock Holmes, as of two months prior to tea.


	14. Explanations and Exposition

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And that's a wrap.

The next month was, to put it bluntly, exceedingly unpleasant.

Mummy and Daddy Holmes were heartbroken and furious, and tried to blame Mycroft for the attack on Sherringford. They eventually softened somewhat on understanding that all of them had been drugged and kidnapped, but Mycroft avoided them as much as he could.

Greg managed to get Mycroft’s phone number and postal address from Sherlock and sent him letters–and occasionally called; they were some of the few pleasant intervals Mycroft had during the investigation.

One month to the day after the tea incident, Mycroft received a phone call from his brother.

“Brother.”

Mycroft smiled slightly into the phone, “Raven.”

There was a pause and then Sherlock laughed, “I’m rather fond of the name, actually.” He cleared his throat and continued, “John and I are going back up to the house–apparently I own it–and… I thought I would invite you and Greg to come.”

Mycroft looked down at a schedule of utter misery and made a decision: “I’d be delighted.”

…

Greg smiled at Mycroft as he pulled up to the house. “I just got here myself, Mycroft. I’m glad you decided to come!”

“I took one look at my schedule and decided I would commit suicide by stapler if I didn’t get out of the office.” Mycroft sighed, “I must thank you for the postcards and so on: they brightened my days considerably.”

Greg ducked his head and smiled, “Shall we go in?”

“Indeed.”

When they got in, they found Doctor Watson standing up from a newly laid fire. “Glad to see you two!”

“You look well, John,” Mycroft smiled. “Mrs. Hudson must be feeding the two of you well.”

“Yes, well,” John began and Sherlock–walking in with a tray of tea and sandwiches–said the rest with him, “she’s our landlady not our cook.”

Greg burst out laughing.

“I do trust this tea has been vetted?” Mycroft said with an eyebrow raise.

“All of the foodstuffs have been replaced,” Sherlock nodded, “and we brought the tea up with us.”

“Pity you didn’t bring some of those lemon frosted things,” Greg sighed, happily biting into a sandwich.

“Since Mycroft apparently likes to cook, perhaps he can make some?” John looked thoughtfully at them.

“I shall not even begin to attempt to outdo Mrs. Hudson in baking,” Mycroft nodded regally, “but I could make something.”

They sat in silence, drinking tea and looking around at the place: it was different–seeing it with their memories intact–and eventually they were commenting on how things were the same, and different.

“I don’t understand why he bought it for you,” Greg sighed, “but it’s a nice house. What are you going to do with it?”

“I don’t really know in the long term.” Sherlock sighed, “More immediately? We… well… we thought…”

“It will be a lovely place to honeymoon, yes,” Mycroft nodded sipping his tea.

“Never could surprise you,” John laughed.

Greg stared between the two of them. “Wait, you two? Finally?!”

Sherlock nodded slowly, “Yes. It’s not without complications… but… we’ve come through this much.”

John took his hand, “We’ll manage–we’d better, because you aren’t getting rid of me.”

Sherlock smiled at him, “At least we know we can never forget each other.”

Greg was making exaggerated cooing noises when Mycroft spoke up, “I believe the idiom is ‘get a room’, but congratulations in any event; now stop being emotional over my tea.” The other three of them laughed.

As they cleared away the tea, there was a knock at the door. They all froze.

“Like last time.” “Another package?” “…a bomb?”

“Likely a neighbor,” Mycroft said, but he sounded uncertain as he went to the door. He came back with an odd expression and a small box.

“Courier… with a delivery.” He put down a smaller box than last time.

“It’s déjà vu all over again,” Greg muttered.

“Right.” Sherlock pulled out a small knife and made short work of the seals. He shook out the contents: a DVD.

After they all stared at it for a few moments, John muttered, “I’ll get the laptop,” and went to fetch it.

Greg looked thoughtful. “Is it late enough for alcohol, because I think it may be called for.”

Mycroft nodded solemnly, “I brought some Scotch with me–I believe this may the occasion for it–but for myself I will wait until after: I want my wits about me.”

“Likewise,” Sherlock nodded and got them all coffees.

When all four of them were back with coffee at the ready and Scotch on standby, Sherlock loaded the disk.

After a few moments of computer activity, Jim Moriarty’s familiar face filled the screen and then moved back. He was sitting someplace tropical-looking, near a beach–and he had a sunburned nose. Sherlock blinked at that.

“I really should start with ‘Did you miss me?’, but it’s been done,” Jim laughed into the camera.

He sat back; you could see how bright the sunlight was even under the shaded porch where he was sitting.

“If I’m right, you’ll all be together; otherwise, I expect this little disc will have to make the rounds…” He tilted his head thoughtfully and then his expression became more serious. “None of this was how it was supposed to go–I expect you all know that by now.”

It was reflex for most of them to nod when he paused.

“What was SUPPOSED to happen was that Sherlock and John would be drugged–as we were–and wake up in the house… and have a chance to get to know each other again without… everything.”

Jim reached out of camera range and came back holding a frothy drink with fruit on a stick in it: he sipped at it thoughtfully. “Some of the things that happened to you two were my fault, some weren’t… and then there was Euros.” He looked a bit wistful.

“Brilliant… utterly brilliant,” he sighed, “but broken in all the wrong ways.”

“Who?” Greg looked around, saw everyone else’s rapt attention, and settled back.

“She’d been loose for far longer than I think you know, and she tried to use me as one of her little pawns, but I’ve never been good at playing by the rules. After I was away from her influence for a while, I realized she had to go.” He looked back at the camera. “So what was supposed to happen was that Sherlock and John would be missing–actually safe and sound, off at the house–and that would mean Dear Mycroft would be trying to deal with his missing brother when Sherringford was attacked.”

He smirked, “I did rather figure that those two things happening at once would keep Mycroft from being able to spend all his attention on either, and slow down any attempts to trace anything.”

“It certainly would have…” Mycroft sighed.

“But that, as you know, isn’t what happened. I walked in and found my net–set for two–had caught a far bigger fish: Mycroft.” He chuckled darkly, “I admit that you likely wouldn’t have woken up anywhere nearly as pleasant Mycroft–if Mrs. Hudson hadn’t intervened.”

Mycroft shivered faintly, and Greg put his hand on his arm.

All bright and cheerful again, Jim continued, “I do trust she and little Rosie are well? I advised her to run along before the cleanup crew got there, and my reports indicate that she was alright… Incidentally, I want the recipe for those lemon squares she made, but I digress…”

He pulled the stick of fruit out of the drink and started nibbling on it. “It’s interesting, really… I planned on a second chance for John and Sherlock–a sort of apology, and also keeping them safely out of the way–and I got a second chance for all of us, didn’t I? It’s hard to hate you, Mycroft, when I’ve seen you–really seen you–and you’ve seen me… I admit, I never pictured you cooking.”

He paused thoughtfully, worrying at a bit of fruit–pineapple, it seemed–and everyone started looking at each other, wondering where this was going.

“I suspect you were as much your sister’s play toy as anything, Mycroft: I do advise you to consider how MUCH she ordered the course of your life… It took me a while to figure out what she’d done to me and I only dealt with her for a few months, really.” He shrugged and put the stick down out of camera range. “But what’s important is what comes next, don’t you think?”

“Yes,” Mycroft said drily, “I do wish you would get to the point.”

“Shut up, Mycroft,” Sherlock muttered, but without any venom in it.

“With Euros dead, my business in England is concluded, really. I wouldn’t mind seeing any of you again–but not anyplace with an extradition treaty,” he smirked. “I trust I’ll get a video of John and Sherlock’s wedding–assuming they bother to have one–because I don’t think I can attend unless you want to have a destination wedding someplace…” he looked around amusedly, “tropical.”

He looked seriously at the camera, “Now as to you, Iceman…”

Mycroft braced.

“LIVE a little, for God’s sake! Get out some, cook more, fuck Greg into the mattress–or hell, let him fuck YOU into the mattress; I don’t judge–but if you don’t unbutton a bit, you’re going to die without benefit of leaving your office.” He grinned rather wickedly. “I’d be delighted to peel you out of that suit and show you a few things if you prefer, but I got the impression your tastes ran to Grey.”

Mycroft had flushed beet red and he risked a glance at Greg… only to find him grinning at him in an inviting fashion.

“Wouldn’t mind… but I did say that,” Greg whispered.

“I CAN hear you!” Sherlock snapped.

“Shush.” John frowned.

Jim had apparently paused for reactions, because he continued, “Anyway… I’m sure Sherlock and Mycroft can figure out where I am from all the clues I handed them if anyone wants to come visit: Knight would probably be delighted to see you, especially Greg and John–Military, you know.”

“Now if you all will excuse me, I have an oiled up, half- naked sniper baking on the sand and I have to turn him over so he’ll brown evenly.” Jim smiled in an affectionate fashion. “Ta!”

The screen went dark.

Everyone sat back and took a breath almost at once.

“He’s still the most infuriating man I ever met,” Mycroft said tiredly.

“So it was… meant well?” John looked at Sherlock.

“Yes,” Sherlock nodded, “and also a distraction–that makes sense.”

They sat there drinking their forgotten coffee–some of them with a splash of alcohol added.

Greg shrugged, “So… you two know where he is?”

“Obviously,” Sherlock and Mycroft said in unison.

John looked hesitantly at Greg, “He killed Euros, and while… I can’t be even remotely unhappy about that, it’s going to take a while for them…”

“I find myself saddened by her loss,” Mycroft said quietly, “and relieved that I didn’t have to make the decision.”

Sherlock didn’t say anything, just fiddled with his coffee spoon.

“Well… I never had an issue with Knight… so if you ever DO want to visit… I’m game,” Greg nodded, and then grinned at Mycroft.

Mycroft found himself stuttering a bit. “What?”

“Nothing…”

John sighed, “Why don’t you two go…. bake bread or something? Sherlock and I have things to discuss.”

Sherlock and John went upstairs slowly, “Do you think those two…?”

Sherlock snorted, “I have trouble imagining my brother in a relationship at all– and the idea of him in a relationship with Greg gives me hives–so I suppose it’s inevitable.”

~

Jim closed down the camera link and laughed.

“What is it?” Sebastian asked, walking in from the beach where he’d been out for his early morning swim.

“Just sent my parting message to the boys.”

“And you didn’t CALL me?”

“You think you could keep a straight face watching them through the camera?”

Sebastian chuckled, “No.”

“Watching Mycroft turn beet red when… anyway, it’s all recorded so you can watch the replay.”

Sebastian leaned down and started nibbling lightly on Jim’s neck. “I’m all covered in salt…”

Jim leaned back and wrapped his arms around him, pulling him down for a kiss. “I’ll bring the limes…”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really love the unusual dynamic (for me) of the much more recent... post reichenbach... relationship between Moran and Moriarty. so i plan on writing a bit of that as a sort of sequel.
> 
> as a reminder, as of this chapter it has now been one month since the tea party- excavations of the ruins of Sherringford are only at BEST half completed, and remains will take even longer to identify.


End file.
